


Cassie Robinson's Mixtape for the Apocalypse

by cotangent_brothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel, Angst and Humor, Apocalypse - Take 2, BAMF Cassie, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Eileen, Boy King Sam, Camp Chitaqua, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Dean, Demon Sam, F/M, Female Friendship, Hell, Human Castiel, Hunter Claire, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Knight of Hell Dean Winchester, Male-Female Friendship, Season 9 Finale - canon divergence, The Cage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-05-26 02:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6220195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cotangent_brothers/pseuds/cotangent_brothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon siblings Dean and Sam crisscross the country, enslaving the remains of the human race and picking fights with angels, hunters, and everything in between. </p><p>Okay, for reals: Boy king!Sam. Knight of Hell!Dean. This is the story of the Winchesters gone dark side - and the fresh hell it brings for novice hunter Cassie Robinson. But if Cassie's gonna to ride this Apocalypse out, she's damn well gonna have some kickass background music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Locked Out of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> So I was thinking to myself, "But what if Sam hadn't managed to cure Dean of his demon-ness?" Three episodes was not enough, dammit. And then more thoughts, like what if said demon!Dean actually had ambitions? What if...Apocalypse, take 2? Something even worse than the Apocalypse? I just want BAMF!Winchesters playing for the other side, okay? 
> 
> And what if CASSIE. 
> 
> Love me some Cassie, kickin' ass and takin' names. Here to fuck shit up while looking damn fine. And it ain't the end of the world without the perfect playlist.

**Prologue**

[Now]

Hell is cold.

Nah, screw that. Hell is fucking freezing. If she had a moment of stillness to spare, she would have been able to feel every ring of vertebra in her spinal cord slowly icing over. But she doesn’t have a moment. They are tracking her. Every slam of her heart against her rib cage, every droplet of her sweat hitting the floor…they can even smell her fear, like sharks following a blood trail.

She is nearing the lake now, and its slimy white flames writhe against the sickly darkness. She feels no heat as she approaches – rather, she feels as if whatever warmth is left in bones is slowly leeching out, being drawn into the fire. Her knees buckle, and she stumbles, but she pushes on. Their footsteps and gleeful screeching are getting closer. Overhead, the sky rains blood, and viscous globs splatter onto her. The odor of iron and sulfur makes her want to wretch. But she can’t stop. She promised her family. Seeing them again is the single strand of hope that she clings to.

The shoreline is in view, and without pausing, she sprints onto the strip of sand – shit, that isn’t sand beneath her boots. It’s shards of glass. She is about to pray that the glass doesn’t cut through her shoes and puncture her feet, but then she remembers – God can’t hear her pleas down here. No one can. With an exhausted sob, she forces herself to run faster. As she closes the distance between herself and the Lake of Fire, she pulls out the vial from the inside pocket of her jacket. The contents would have been red, but there is no color in Hell except for monochrome and the ugly green of the Pit. Even the blood rain is a nasty gray, only identifiable by its smell and taste.

The fiery waters are only a few feet away. She uncaps the vial as she slows, about to toss its contents into the flames, when she is tackled by something enormous and scaly. The vial goes flying out of her grasp and sight, and she screams as her body is pinned against the glass shards by her attacker. Sharp bursts of pain explode all over her, but she is lifted from the ground as suddenly as she was thrown onto it.

Now her feet dangle a foot above the floor as the beast holds her by the neck, effectively cutting off her air and crushing her throat.

It roars in _Baal’thi_ , one of the ancient tongues of Hell, but she has been here long enough to pick up the gist of what he is asking.

_Who are you?_

She points to her neck, and he sets her down reluctantly. When she can breathe again, she manages with a grin, “Why don’t you ask your dad? He certainly knew my name last night.”

He slaps her so hard, her vision goes black for a moment and when it adjusts, she’s on her backside, shards digging into her palms and rump.

The beast, easily the size of a bear, squats before her and exhales acidic breath in her face.

 _I will not ask you again_ , he growls. _Who are you?_

She glares up at him, ignoring the way his hideous form makes her want to crawl into a closet and hide. “Take a guess,” she hisses.

He raises a hand as if to strike her again, but then he freezes. Looks her over. Shakes his head in fascination and horror.

_You? You are The Damnation?_

“The name’s Cassie, asshat,” she says, and then, moving so fast he doesn’t even have time to react, she grabs the hilt of the sword protruding from the sheath at her back and plunges it into the small gap of fleshy skin between the scales of his armor. He howls as it skewers him, collapsing onto his back. She jerks the blade free and stabs him a few more times for good measure, until he goes completely still. His form melts into the ground and disappears completely, leaving only the tart smell of sulfur. His essence is returning to the Mountain where it will be reformed into another grotesque creature. But the threat is terminated for now.

Cassie wipes her sword on her pant leg and sheathes it.

More beasts are coming. Her vial is out of sight, probably shattered. Time is running out.

So she digs around inside her jacket and retrieves the worn, folded photograph and opens it.

He looks back at her with that cocky half-smile, eyes squinting in the sun. Down here, those eyes are a light shade of grey, but topside, they’re the loveliest green she has ever seen. And she’s slowly forgetting the exact shade.

Cassie lets out a shaky breath and tucks the photo away. She promises herself right then that she will see those green eyes again. Even if it kills her.

And it probably will.

 

**Chapter One**

[Then]

_***************************************************_

_"' ~~Cause your sex takes me to paradise~~  _

_Open up your gates 'cause I want to see the light_

_And right there is where I wanna stay"_

_***************************************************_

 

 

 _Apocalypse lesson number three: do not drink milk that is chunky_.

Cas committed this particular nugget of wisdom to memory as he held Hannah’s hair out of her face while she retched.

It was hard enough being stranded on earth while civilization crumbled, but on top of that, Cas had to learn human rules too – _keep hydrated, excretion is not optional, food becomes rotten_ – usually on the go. He’d been human once before, but only for a short while. Not nearly long enough to compile a comprehensive understanding of human mannerisms and existence.

Regardless, when he and Hannah had stumbled upon an abandoned Gas ‘n Sip, they’d ravenously helped themselves to whatever food was left. Cas had been halfway through his fifth granola bar when he’d found Hannah drinking spoiled milk. She was facing the consequences of that decision now.

She gave a final heave over the trash can and collapsed against the alley wall. Cas, too, slumped against the wall beside her. He’d wanted to tell her to vomit more quietly – the town was seemingly deserted, but they could never be too careful – but it had seemed a cruel thing to say. He retrieved a water bottle from his backpack and handed it to her.

“Are you feeling…better?” he asked. Was vomiting a good sign or a symptom of a larger issue?

“I don’t know,” Hannah replied slowly after downing some water. “Is my stomach supposed to attempt to digest itself?”

Cas squinted. “Unlikely.” He sighed. The fragility of humanity was beautiful in theory but cumbersome in practice. He reached for her stomach. “Here, let me—”

“No, Castiel,” she caught his hand. “We have to save what remains of our grace. I’ll recover eventually.”

“Hannah,” he frowned. She really didn’t look good – blanched and covered in sweat. Those were markers of illness, suffering. How many times Cas had seen those indications of pain on Sam and Dean—

He clenched his jaw. Thinking of them was too painful. Was pain the right word to describe the sudden tightness in his chest, the stinging in his eyes? How versatile pain was.

Cas shook his head. He had to put the Winchesters out of his mind. He and Hannah had a mission to accomplish.

“Are you well enough to travel?” he asked her. Hannah was looking a little green now, but she nodded determinedly.

He stood up, pulling her to her feet. “Good. The playground is a few blocks down.”

 

This town, like a lot of the towns across the country, was little more than rubble. The buildings were in different stages of ruin – some half-standing, others nothing more than mounds of debris. Cars were scattered here and there, a lot of them dented and smashed beyond repair. Blood, broken glass, and other detritus littered the streets, and judging by the scorched wing marks burned into various surfaces, this had been the site of one of the many angel-demon showdowns. The stench of sulfur assaulted Cas’ nose as they made their way through the mess, but then, the whole world stank of it these days.

It took them about thirty minutes to reach the playground, with Hannah stopping only once to puke. The playground, too, was a broken place. The frame of the swing set was warped almost comically, the slide had a crater-like hole in it, the mulch was splattered with red, and the sandbox…

Cas and Hannah approached the sandbox. There were no angels guarding it, to Cas’ non-surprise. The portal to Heaven had been destroyed years back, when the Apocalypse had begun to crescendo. The only physical link to Heaven had been severed. Cas knew this, and yet he still retrieved a broken branch from a nearby tree and drew _Metatron’s cube_ , the sigil to open the portal, in the sand. When he finished, he stood back half-expectantly and waited.

Nothing happened.

“Castiel…” Hannah said gently.

“I know.” He swallowed. “I just…had to try it. At least once.” They’d traveled by foot for two weeks just to come here, just to try – in vain – to go home. Hannah had warned him multiple times that this would happen, but she’d humored his stubbornness. It had been a dangerous journey, too. Several times, they’d almost been spotted by demons. Once, they’d even been captured, but they’d managed to escape due to some quick thinking on Hannah’s part and brutal blade wielding on Cas’ part. And all of it for nothing.

Cas sat down heavily and tried to breathe through the crushing disappointment. This had been his last hope, the one thing keeping him going, and now there was nothing. Just the certainty that one day, probably in the near future, he was going to die at the hands of demons on this godforsaken planet, with nothing but his legacy of astounding failure surviving him.

Hannah made a move as if to pat his shoulder when suddenly a figure emerged from the copse of trees. Cas sprang to his feet and brandished the angel blade he kept stowed in the sleeve of his trench coat. To his right, Hannah flourished her own blade.

The figure – a man, upon closer inspection – held his hands up.

“At ease, brother,” he said, still slowly approaching. “My name is Sandalphon. You are Castiel, yes? I was in your garrison.”

Cas stared at him warily. “There _was_ an angel named Sandalphon in my garrison, but how can I be sure you are him?”

The angel considered this. Then he said, “During the Great Cleanse when we were battling the Grigori in Eden, I was captured by a Nephilim mercenary. You, Anna, and Jophiel rescued me.”

Cas exhaled and smiled, closing the distance between them to embrace him. “Sandalphon. It’s good to see you again.”

“And you, as well,” the other angel grinned as they broke apart.

“This is Hannah,” Cas added, and they nodded to each other. “So what brings you here, brother?”

Sandalphon sighed. “I’ve been wandering mostly, but I always seem to end up here. I’m very aware that the Gates are permanently closed, and yet…”

“Yet we still hope,” Cas finished. Heavy silence fell over them for a moment.

“And you both?” Sandalphon asked. “What have you been doing up till now?”

Cas and Hannah exchanged looks. “We’ve been trying to round up the remaining angels on earth,” Hannah said finally. “We need the strength of numbers, which is why we came here as well. We were hoping that if we could get the portal open, not only would we be able to reconnect to the powers of Heaven, but we could recruit other angels for our plan.”    

The new angel frowned. “Your plan?”

“To save the Winchesters,” Cas explained.

There was a pause as Sandalphon stared at them. “Save…the Winchesters?” he eventually managed. “From what, themselves? We are all in this mess _because_ of them, Castiel. If anything, you should be amassing your militia to kill them!”

“They were my friends once, Sandalphon,” Cas said tightly. He felt Hannah’s hand on his shoulder, and he forced himself to relax. “I won’t kill them. And if we save them, we save the world. They’re not beyond salvation.”

“No,” a voice said from behind them, “but you three are.” Suddenly Cas was thrown through the air, and his body crashed into the swing set, his head cracking against the frame. He slid to the ground, reeling from dizziness and pain. A dark form blocked his view, and he looked up to see a large man with black eyes looming over him. Demon.

His blade lay a few feet away and when he reached for it, the demon stepped on his hand. Cas groaned in agony as the bones in his fingers fractured beneath the demon’s boot. He heard Sandalphon scream from the other side of the playground and Hannah cry out. More demons.

“So this is the great Castiel,” the demon in front of him sneered. Cas tried to stand but stopped when his windpipe closed off suddenly. He choked, hands flying to his throat. The demon crouched down before him and growled, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down.” The pressure loosened around his neck, and Cas inhaled desperately.

“What’s the plan, Belphegor?” one of the other demons called. The one in front of him – Belphegor – tapped his chin, pretending to consider.

“The boss would want us to bring him this bitch,” he kicked Cas in the gut, “but you can kill the other two tree toppers.”

“That would be one course of action, but is it the wisest?” Cas said quickly.

Belphegor looked down at him suspiciously and grunted. “The fuck are you yammering about?”

Cas, keeping his hands up, stood slowly. He gestured to Hannah and Sandalphon. “Those are two of Heaven’s finest soldiers. They’re here on earth as key players in the angelic general’s battle strategy, and they are much more valuable to you alive.”

Belphegor scoffed. “You’re talking as if the angels are planning some sort of attack, but everyone knows your wussy brethren hauled ass and left. And they ain’t coming back.” He was right, of course, but Cas certainly wasn't about to tell him that.

Cas smiled. “Sure, we’ll go with that. But what a shame it would be if I were actually telling the truth, and your boss lost his upper hand because of you.”

Belphegor scowled and glanced back at his cohorts. They shrugged. “Whatever,” he muttered. “What’s two more wingless dicks?” The demon grasped Cas by the bicep, and the world vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Locked Out of Heaven" lyrics © 2012 by Bruno Mars


	2. Radioactive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp Chitaqua's destiny as a sanctuary for Apocalypse survivors has been realized. Hunters and civilian refugees from all over have gathered here, and now fearless leader Robin has a mission for them.

_***************************************_

_"I raise my flag and dye my clothes_

_It's a revolution, I suppose_

_We're painted red to fit right in"_

_***************************************_

 

 

The best part of Robin’s day was when she got to kill something.

Some people looked forward to the sunrise or their lunch break or even plopping down in front of the TV after a long day. Robin was more of a _homicide_ kind of girl. Although “homicide” implied that it was a person being iced. And while Robin was definitely a killer, she would never harm another human being. But then, demons didn’t really fall under the human category, right? That’s what she told herself. That’s what she was telling herself right now.

“Where is it?” she calmly asked the demon as she dragged the holy water-soaked dagger across his chest. He hissed as his skin sizzled.

“We can do this all day,” he said through gritted teeth, “but there’s no way I’m telling you anything.”

Robin stared up at the ceiling of the cabin, exasperated.

It was a nice place, the cabin. At least, it would have been if it hadn’t become her prime spot for demon interrogation. The paneled walls, originally covered in framed photos of pine trees and glittering lakes, were now stocked with guns and knives. The floor, composed of lovely black cherry wood, was masked by a large painted devil’s trap, and the ceiling was covered in sigils. Resting on the table were various instruments at Robin’s disposal – holy water and bags of salt and various sharp objects. She’d been trying to get her hands on a demon knife for a while, but to her dismay, those things were rare. So she made do. And she was nothing if not creative.

“Fortunately,” Robin smiled at the demon, “I do have all day. And the next day, and the next. Hell, I cleared my entire week just for you, babe. So…” she trailed off, reaching for the salt and the automatic screwdriver, “let’s get started.”

 

Three hours later, Robin stepped out of the cabin, peeling off her blood-soaked over shirt as she went. Eileen was waiting for her at the base of the steps with a cold beer.

“Just what I needed,” Robin grinned, reaching for the bottle. She sat down next to the other hunter and popped the cap off with her ring. “The rations team got back already?” The camp seemed busier than it had been this morning. People were milling about, unloading boxes from the vans parked at the periphery, field-stripping weapons, talking.

“Yeah, an hour ago,” Eileen said, her words slightly imprecise. This was typical – Eileen was deaf, but she’d learned to vocalize in order to better communicate with hearing people. She’d been teaching Robin ASL, but this was just faster sometimes. And as long as Eileen could read Robin’s lips when she spoke, her deafness wasn’t even a hindrance.

“Did they find a new place, ‘cause we didn’t have beer last time.”

Eileen nodded, her dark hair glinting in the afternoon sun. “Abandoned warehouse. They found a whole lot of molding perishables but also plenty of canned food and a few cases of the good stuff,” she nodded at the bottle in Robin’s hand. “It might be flat though.”

Robin took a sip and grimaced. “Yep. Did they find any toiletries? We’re running low on toothpaste and tampons, to the guys’ horror.” They both laughed. 

“They got more toilet paper, I think.”

Robin shrugged. “Alright. We’ll just have to start using squirrel skins like the Vikings.”

“Now _that’s_ horrifying.”

“No kidding.”

“And the demon?” Eileen asked, eyeing the bloody shirt next to Robin. “Did he spill?”

“Oh, yeah,” she smirked. “The bastard squealed like a pig. I’m gonna assemble the team, and we’ll head out tonight.” Robin drained the bottle and stood, about to head to the vans and take inventory, when Eileen caught her arm.

“I want to come,” she said.

Robin held back a sigh. “I know you do, Ei, but I need you here, running things while I’m gone. Someone’s got to be in charge. You know how freaked the newbies get. They’re traumatized, and they need to feel safe.”

“Then put Garth in charge.”

“Garth?” Robin scoffed. “Have you met the guy?”

“Robin, please.” Eileen’s voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I’m going crazy, cooped up here. And I’m a damn good hunter – you know that. Nobody would watch your back like I would.”

“Yeah,” she exhaled. “Okay, fine. But I’m calling the shots,” Robin warned. “So if I tell you to run or stay behind or _whatever_ —”

“I got it,” Eileen beamed. “You’re the best.” And she ran off.

“Damn right,” Robin muttered sarcastically.

 

Camp Chitaqua was a beautiful place. Surrounded by trees and bordered by a lake, it had originally been a summer camp nestled within an out-of-the way forest in Kansas City, Missouri. It actually wasn’t too far from Robin’s old hometown. Not that anyone lived there anymore, obviously. The place had been a radioactive zone for years.

Robin strode across the field, nodding at people as she passed, and slipped into the war room. That’s what they had nicknamed the cabin where the mission planning and strategizing took place.

Already in the room were a few of the more seasoned Apocalypse survivors – hunters and well-adjusted civilians who’d figured out pretty quick what it took to stay alive. Some were seated at the table, pouring over a large map, and others lounged around, chatting. They quieted down as she stepped inside.

“Thank you all for being here,” Robin said, coming over to stand at the head of the table.

“We heard you finally cracked the demon,” Ennis Roth, one of the more outspoken hunters, called out. He was a smart guy, dark-skinned like her, but unlike her, he was impulsive. Bit of a wild card. Robin wouldn’t have called him to the meeting if she hadn’t needed the manpower.

“Yeah, Ennis, I did,” she confirmed, and the room broke out in whoops and applause. Any time a demon was put through the grinder or ganked, the humans cheered. It was one of the reasons why almost no one questioned Robin’s authority – she was very good at torturing Hell spawn for information, and people respected that. To be honest, the torture part of it all made her a little nauseous. Wasting demons point blank was one thing, but prolonged suffering was something else altogether.

But she wasn’t about to tell these people that. Not after what they’d been through at the hands of the demons.

“He broke,” she continued, “and revealed the location – Cainsville, a few cities over. In an empty storage unit near the water mill.”

The group let out disgusted noises.

“Do you think they’re still alive?” a civilian named Caleb asked.

Robin nodded, swallowing bitterness. “Oh, yeah. Demons like to play with their food first. Those people are definitely alive, though they’re probably very damaged. But it doesn’t matter. If there’s even a chance that they’re still kicking, we’ve got to save them.” The group made sounds of agreement.

The human population had been decimated in the last five years. It had started in 2015, insidiously at first. The hunter circle had been the first to go. One by one, they were picked off. Initially, this hadn’t raised any alarms – hunters died all the time on the job. Occupational hazard, and all that. But then it started happening in earnest, and by the time they realized what was going down, it was too late. Almost everyone was dead. Only a handful had survived, mostly those who had been either long retired or amateurs, and they all had to go into hiding, Robin included.

Once the hunters were removed from the playing field, the demons went after the world leaders. Presidents, dictators, royals. NATO, the UN, the military…every democracy, monarchy, and religious frickin’ oligarchy, exterminated. It wasn’t that hard when you had the powers of non-consented possession at your command. That’s when the war left the roadhouses, empty highways, and dirty motels of the hunter world and collided with the bright, safe civilian world. That’s when the demons left the shadows and came out to play.

It was chaos from then on. Hell on Earth, literally. The first wave of demons fresh from the Pit went on a massacre, slaughtering humans by the thousands. And as more and more arrived, more and more people died. Only in the last year did the utter annihilation cease. Now humans were near extinction and hunted for sport. But a lot of the time, before being killed, they were kept as entertainment, as slaves, toys. The demons did unspeakable things to them until death became a mercy.

And Robin had just uncovered the location of a group of these people.

“I’m heading out tonight,” she announced. “It should be a standard search and rescue, and I need volunteers for the trip.”  

Immediately a sizable portion of the group stood up or shouted out that they wanted in. Among the volunteers were Ennis and Eileen, Roy and Walt – two rednecky, surly hunters who were admittedly pretty good shots, and a half dozen civilians. Robin made a mental note to stop calling the latter as such – they were all hunters now.

 “That should be enough,” Robin nodded. “You all know the drill. Start packing now and meet me in the war room at seven. We leave at sundown. The rest of you,” she addressed the non-volunteers, “be sure to finish your duties. I noticed some of you’ve been slacking. We just restocked the toilet paper, but I’m not above making you use leaves.” They laughed, and she cracked a grin. “Don’t let it come to that.”

The group took that as a cue to disperse and filed out of the cabin. Eileen patted Robin’s arm on her way out, and a moment later, she was all alone.

Robin slumped against the table, suddenly exhausted.

This was the hardest part of the job – keeping herself confident and positive for the others, acting like she had things under control. But there was no control. That’s what made it the fucking Apocalypse. The world was ending, and the best they could do was delay their inevitably bloody ends. The thing about going down swinging, though, was that you knew you were going down. And she was terrified of the moment when she would finally hit the ground.

Robin rubbed her temples in an attempt to alleviate the pressure that was building within her skull, but it was more than that. It was as if the entire cabin was closing in on her. She could feel her heart rate increasing and sweat forming on her brow. If she didn’t get out of here soon, she was going to throw up.

She checked her watch. It was only noon. There was time to slip away and be back before anyone even noticed she’d been gone. And so Robin, veteran hunter and fearless leader of the remaining human race, ran away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my fic summary involved the Winchesters and we have yet to see them, but fear not, chapter three features our boys in lead roles. Yaay ~
> 
> "Radioactive" lyrics © 2012 by Imagine Dragons


	3. Glory and Gore: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters are back. Let the shit show begin.

_********************************************************_

_“And the cry goes out (ha oh)_

_They lose their minds for us, and how it plays out_

_Now we’re in the ring, and we’re coming for blood”_

_**********************************************************_

 

 

Dean’s head cracked against the gym lockers as the woman shoved him backwards, leaping into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. She planted burning kisses along his neck, and he growled as she bit his ear, savoring the pain. He spun them around so that now she was the one pinned against the lockers, and he brought his mouth down on hers hard, enjoying the throbbing in his lips as they moved with hers. She let out a small gasp of surprise, eyes going black, as his teeth broke through the delicate skin of her lips. Dean smirked as her breath hitched and ran his tongue over the blood. It had that slightly bitter taste that only demon blood had, and he drew it into his mouth, feeling a faint buzz begin to bubble in his veins. His fingers dug into her thighs so tightly, she would have developed bruises if she were human.

It was only when the chanting began that Dean finally broke away.

 _Dean! Dean! Dean!_ His name echoed from outside and into the locker room, and he reluctantly lowered the women to the floor. She pouted as he untangled himself from her.

“That’s my cue, sweetheart,” he shrugged, buttoning his jeans. She sighed and snatched her shirt from where it lay crumpled on the ground.

“Later then, maybe,” she suggested as she began pulling her shirt back on.  

Dean reached for the Blade tucked into his waistband. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

She got the shirt over her head just in time to see him plunge his knife into her chest. Reddish orange light flared from every orifice in her body, and the woman slumped over, dead. Dean wiped the bloody First Blade on her shirt and then tucked it into his belt. She’d been hot for a demon – he had no idea what her meat suit looked like, of course – but she’d been a screamer. Now he was into a lot of kinky shit, but screaming…that was more Sam’s type. It fucking pissed Dean off.

 _Dean! Dean! Dean!_ The chanting was getting faster, wilder. They were all waiting for him. He shook himself out, hopped up on adrenaline from the fresh kill and the blood he’d drank, and then he strode out of the locker room.

Bright afternoon light hit him in the face and he veiled his eyes with his hand, smiling lazily up at the spectators. They went berserk. Nearly every seat in the MetLife football stadium had been filled, which was unsurprising. This was a popular event – and Dean was the star of the show.

“There he is, folks,” the announcer’s voice boomed from the speakers. Dean’s face appeared on the gigantic screens, and he saw that his mouth was still stained with blood. That was a nice touch. “Your warrior, your commander, your knight…Dean Winchester!” The crowd screamed his name, and _Back in Black_ began blaring.

Dean walked out onto the field, pumping his fist in the air. This was when he felt the most alive – the demon spectators egging him on, the bloodlust, the high of the hunt. He felt like an uncontainable force of nature. He felt like a god.

“And Dean Winchester’s prey today?” the announcer continued over the music. From the other side of the stadium, the doors opened and humans stumbled out, forced onto the field by demon guards. “The last fifteen living navy seals!” The audience booed as the men were prodded forward. “These guys are Special ops, so they know their way around weapons. That’s why, for the first time ever…we’re going to arm them too!” The booing turned to cheers, and Dean grinned. Good. He could use the competition.

Three guards broke flank to distribute various weapons to the men – guns and machetes and axes. One guy was even given a freaking mace, from what Dean could see. He stifled a chuckle. None of that would save them, but the spark of hope they must be feeling now would be so orgasmically satisfying to crush.

“Fighters, take your places.”

Dean and the seals approached the center of the field, keeping a good ten yards between them. Up close, he could see the haggard set of their shoulders, their dilated pupils, the sweat clinging to their brows and darkening their clothes. But there was so much more. He closed his eyes and let the Mark hijack his sensory receptors. Ah. Now he could hear their thrumming heart beats, smell their blood…and oh, one of them had pissed himself. Awesome. The Mark on his arm pulsed with anticipation, and he licked his lips, tasting iron and sulfur.

“Fighters, on your mark…get set…begin!”

Immediately, a round of bullets tore through the air and ripped into Dean. He staggered back at the force of the onslaught, but besides the faint stinging of his newly punctured skin, he was unharmed. He looked up to see the men’s horrified faces and grinned wolfishly. This was going to be so fun.

 

* * *

 

Demon transportation was surprisingly different from angel transportation. While angels used their wings like catapults to shoot themselves at their destination, demons seemed to melt into the shadows and travel through the darkness. It was a cold, oily feeling, similar to the sensation of falling, and the only thing Cas was aware of during the trip was Belphegor’s hand clutching his arm. One minute, they were in the playground, and the next, they were in darkness.

Finally, after what felt like years to Cas, light erupted around them and they landed on a field. His knees buckled, but the demon impatiently yanked him to his feet. He took in the scene sluggishly.

‘Field’ was the wrong word for it. It was a lawn – an enormous one. Behind them sat a fountain that was overflowing with murky water. Cas though he saw some human limbs in there. The lawn was a ravaged place, scorched and littered with junk and stained red here and there. A few demons (presumably) were passed out on the grass, hugging bottles of liquor. Could demons even get drunk? Perhaps if they imbibed enough. But it wasn’t the lawn or the unconscious demons that had caught Cas’ attention. It was the building before him – a large white building that even he, with his unconventional database of anthropological observation, recognized.

The White House.

It was hardly white at this point. Graffiti covered the once pristine paint, several ragged holes had been made in random walls, many windows were shattered, and the pillars in the front had decapitated heads nailed to them. Worst of all, affixed to the House’s gable was a pair of golden angel’s wings, actual size and all. They were relatively small – a seraph’s wing alone was the length of a blue whale. These were small enough to be framed by the gable.

They’d killed a cherub.

Cas’ blood boiled. Cherubs were the infants of the celestial realm. They were innocent of all sin, and their only purpose was to spread joy. To slaughter one was…was…

“Enjoying the décor, huh?” Belphegor smirked. Cas ground his jaws shut to keep from spouting vitriol and getting stabbed. Past his demon handler, Hannah and Sandalphon were staring up at the wings with the depthless grief he felt mirrored on their faces. The wings weren’t just a grisly ornament. They were a symbol of the new age, the era of the fallen.

How far they had fallen, indeed.

“Okay, sightseeing over. Move,” Belphegor ordered, and the demons forced them onward. They picked their way across the wasted lawn and were stopped at the entry of the House by a set of demon guards in suits.

“State your business, Belphegor,” one of the guards ordered.

“I’m here to deliver some fresh, organic dicks,” he snapped. “What does it look like, Mammon?”

The guards glanced at each other, and the one who’d spoken, Mammon, lowered his shades to scrutinize Hannah, who looked away with disgust. “They’re blurry…I can’t quite see her face, but I’m sensing angel grace.” He turned back to Belphegor. “Angels? Why haven’t you killed them? We’re under strict orders – that’s why you were assigned to that post, genius.”

Belphegor patted Cas’ shoulder, and Cas resisted the urge to punch him. “This here’s Castiel, _genius_. Just figured the boss would have some interest in personally flaying him alive.”

Mammon grunted. “And the other two?”

“Important, apparently.” The guards processed this and then shrugged. After patting the angels down and confiscating any and all weapons, they allowed the group to enter.

The place was even filthier on the inside. Dean had once described to Cas a wild college party he’d attended – “crashed”, as he’d put it – and this was essentially what Cas had pictured. The red carpet beneath their feet was sticky with liquid; his shoes kept squelching as he walked. The pillars on the inside were dented and stained, along with the portraits of who he assumed were former presidents. Trash, bottles and cans and wrappers and more, were everywhere, and there was food on the floor along with the shattered remains of a marble bust. A bra hung from the chandelier. And the entire place reeked of sulfur, alcohol, and other putrid stuff.

Demons were strewn around here too, some in deep sleep, others chattering dazedly. Cas wondered if any of them had weapons he could snag. But first he’d have to escape Belphegor’s grip, and even if he did, the demon would just wave his hand and throw Cas across the room. He racked his brain for some viable plan but came up short, to his growing frustration.

Eventually they reached the doors leading to an important-looking room, and after the set of demon guards standing by double-checked Belphegor and co.’s identity and intent, they stepped aside to let them in, closing the doors behind them.

It was an office, grand and spacious, in the shape of an oval. Contrasting with the rest of the House, the office was impeccably neat and organized. Velvet sofas sat in the center of the room around a glass coffee table which held a bowl of fruit, and lining the walls were bookshelves, all packed with thick texts. Many windows – all of them intact – were uncovered to let the light in. A large wooden desk rested at the other end of the room with floor-to-ceiling windows behind it.

And standing by the massive windows was Sam Winchester.

Cas felt a surge of nausea from all the emotions sloshing around inside him, and he wondered if this was what spoiled milk felt like in the digestive system.

Sam was turned partially away from them with a leather-bound book in his hands. He was dressed simply in a flannel shirt and jeans, and everything about him was so familiar and normal that Cas felt his eyes well up. He wanted so much to ignore logic and pretend that this was his dear friend standing before him, but just because his human eyes couldn’t see Sam’s demon form beneath the vessel, it didn’t mean that it wasn’t there. Even in his faded state, Cas could feel the primal tug of revulsion in his gut at the mere presence of the demon, especially one so powerful.

And that’s when Sam turned.

“Cas,” his face broke into a dimpled smile, and Cas felt a pang shoot through him. No one had called him by the shortened version of his name in so long. “Long time, no see.”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas said gravely.

“Well, come in, make yourselves comfortable,” Sam gestured to the plush sofas. None of the angels moved. The air was charged with tangible tension as the angels and the demons assessed one another. Cas’ muscles were taut enough to snap. 

Finally, Belphegor coughed and said, “My Lord, if I may?”

Sam turned his cool gaze onto the demons, and they shrank back almost imperceptibly. “Speak.”

“Uh,” Belphegor stammered. “This one over here,” he shoved Cas, “claims that the other two are part of some grand angel scheme to wage war on us. He says they’re important and we can use them.”

“He lied,” Sam rolled his eyes.

Belphegor’s face went bloodless. “But—”

Sam waved his hand, and the other demon suddenly couldn’t seem to speak. “It was a bluff, you morons. Heaven’s been boarded up for years, and that’s not about to change any time soon. So the only way to keep you from immediately killing his friends was to exaggerate their value. Our pal Cas pulled a fast one over you all.” The demons were shaking where they stood, but Sam continued. “Doesn’t matter. Your idiocy and disobedience actually benefits me right now. I’ve been meaning to have a nice chat with an angel, and you’ve managed to reunite me with Castiel, of all angels.”

The demons exhaled, and one of the nameless cohorts worked up the nerve to ask, “Should I fetch the commander, my Lord?”

Sam considered this. “My brother is at the tournament?” They nodded. “No, let him have his fun. I’d like some alone time with my old friend here. In fact…” he trailed off. He closed his eyes, and a second later the demons fell to their knees, choking. Cas, Hannah, and Sandalphon warily stepped away as the demons began to glow from the inside. Suddenly their bodies jerked as if something had exploded inside them – their true forms? – and they crumpled onto the floor. Dead.

Then it was just the angels and Sam, who opened his eyes. “Now,” he smiled, and it was the emptiest thing Cas had ever seen. “Where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps ~ sorry for taking so long to post the next chapter. College has been murdering me slowly with a butter knife, these past couple of weeks. 
> 
> Also, how do y'all feel about the length of these chapters? Because technically I could've made this one longer, but this was the length I'd used in the previous two, so I stuck with it. Longer, shorter? Let me know, yeah? 
> 
> "Glory and Gore" lyrics © 2013 by Lorde


	4. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes Cas a deal he might not be able to refuse.

***********************************************

“ _And all the kids cried out,_

_‘Please stop, you’re scaring me!’_

_I can’t help this awful energy_

_Goddamn right, you should be scared of me_

_Who is in control?_ "

************************************************

 

 

Sam placed his book on the table and came around to sit on its ledge. He gestured to the bowl of fruit. “Apple? You guys must be starving, what with losing your haloes and all.” He grinned. “Deja vu, huh, Cas? You know, I might even have some peanut butter lying around somewhere – you had a thing for it, right?”           

Cas and his friends exchanged glances, and he turned back to Sam, cautious. “Why haven’t you killed us yet?”

“Kill you?” For his part, Sam looked genuinely surprised. “Cas, you have nothing to fear from me. I may have black eyes, but I still remember and value our friendship. I don’t waste life unnecessarily.”

Cas looked down at the demons on the floor, and Sam smiled ruefully. “That was necessary,” he said. “They were dumbasses, and I try to keep at least semi-competent company.”

“And my friends?” Cas asked defensively.

Sam shrugged. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

“Right,” he scoffed. “And that’s why you’ve ordered your demons to kill all angels on sight.”

“Hey, most angels are assholes. A lot of them would’ve taken you out, given the chance. I’m doing you a favor, man.”

Cas blinked. “A favor? You call _genocide_ a favor? Am I supposed to be grateful that you’ve almost obliterated the human race – that you’ve forced my brothers and sisters to lock themselves away? No, Sam,” his voice cracked, “what you’ve done is killed me.”

Sam sighed. “You always were dramatic.” Then he held his hands up in defeat. “Fine. I see that I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry for that, Cas, I am. So let me make it up to you.”

The angels shifted suspiciously.

“I will stop the killings,” he continued, wide-eyed and earnest, “if you help me. I need something from you.”

“What?”

“Information. Just fill in some gaps for me, and I will spare the world. You three walk free. Rainbows and sunshine.” He smiled charmingly. “What do you say?”

Cas glanced at the other angels, considering this. If Sam, the demon king, was prepared to essentially call a ceasefire on the bloodshed and desolation, the information he was seeking must have been pretty obscure and invaluable. There was no telling what that kind of knowledge in Sam’s hands would mean for the fate of the world. And he’d promised immunity for the world, but then he was a demon, and demons lied.

Well, Cas might not have been a demon, but he also wasn’t an angel at the moment either. He, too, could lie. If all went well, he could fib his way out of the situation. The three of them could walk away unscathed and get far enough from Sam before he realized that he’d been deceived.

It was worth a shot.

“Alright,” Cas said in a reluctant voice. He walked further into the room and plopped down on one of the sofas. Hannah followed awkwardly, while Sandalphon went to stand by one of the smaller windows and stared morosely outside. “What do you want to know?”

Sam clapped his hands, pleased, and came to sit on the sofa opposite Cas and Hannah. “Tell me everything you know about God,” he said.

 

* * *

 

It was a massacre. Dean was a whirlwind, a hurricane, and his world had narrowed to the blood, the flash of his knife, and the screams of the crowd. The first nine seals he killed quickly and brutally, too eager to slake the Mark’s thirst to slow down and really enjoy. But after pulling the Blade out of the ninth man’s ribcage and letting him drop to the ground, the burning in his arm had dulled to a sedated tingling. Now that his hunger was taken care of, he was right in that sweet spot and the real entertainment could begin.

The remaining six men were all in various stages of defeat. Two were making a run for it – which wouldn’t work, obviously. The perimeter was lined with demons and Hellhounds. They’d just be herded back onto the field for Dean to play with.

Three seals were halfheartedly wielding their weapons and trying to keep a distance between themselves and Dean. And the last guy was actually on his knees by the goal, praying. How cute. But this was Dean’s world, and there was no God here.

His vision zeroed in on the dude with the mace, and he stalked forward, twirling the Blade deftly and whistling.

It was only as he was carving up the man – the mace now bloody and discarded – that he realized he was whistling the tune of a funeral march.

Classic.

 

* * *

 

“God?” Hannah repeated, speaking for the first time since getting captured. “Why on earth do you want to know about God?”

“I’ll ask the questions, okay, sweetheart?” Sam said without taking his eyes off Cas. It wasn’t a request. She closed her mouth with irritation.

Cas began before Hannah’s temper found its voice. “I never got to meet him, so I have no personal accounts to relate to you. But despite the distance he often kept with us, my father always managed to keep order…something we’ve failed at.” There. That was both truthful and innocuous.

“And what do you know about his work?”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Sam probed, “his godly agenda. You never got to meet him face-to-face, fine, but did you ever learn about his process? How he did things?”

“His plans and his ways have always been a mystery to us,” Hannah jumped in. She seemed to sense, just as Cas did, that this was going somewhere dangerous.

“C’mon, guys,” Sam smiled, but Cas could see the threat hovering just under the surface. “I’m gonna need more than that if you want me to stand down.”

“He never—” Hannah began, but Sam cut her off, saying, “And don’t even bother trying to lie. I can hear your heartbeats. Hell, I can smell deception.” His eyes were ice as he added, “One false word, and I will cut you down.” Then he abruptly seemed to warm up. “So let’s just not go there, okay, man?”

Cas tried to slow the racing of his heart. “Okay.” He glanced at Hannah, who looked just as cornered as he felt. The only option now was to lie by omission. “I suppose the only angel who really knew the details of God’s work was Metatron, but he’s—”

There was a sharp sound off in the distance, and then Sam suddenly began shaking violently. Cas tore his gaze away from the demon king to see Sandalphon standing by the window, his bloody hand pressed against a sigil he’d drawn on the glass. Cas squinted, and then his eyes widened when he recognized the symbol. It was ancient – the written form of an exorcism. It would forcefully eject any and all demons in the vicinity from their vessels and back into Hell.

But Sam wasn’t possessing anyone. This was his own twisted soul.

“We have to get out of here,” Sandalphon yelled, trying to open the neighboring window but it refused to budge, so he smashed it with his elbow. At the noise, the doors flew open and demon guards poured in. They started convulsing as they entered the sigil’s range of power. Sam was on the floor now, eyes black, writhing.

Cas and Hannah leapt from the sofa and were darting across the room when suddenly their feet left the floor, and they were flung onto the ceiling. Below them, a red-eyed demon was holding them there while she struggled to keep her own demonic soul inside her vessel. Finally, the sigil’s power was too much, and the demon was expelled from her body – and Cas and Hannah plummeted to the ground. 

Hannah’s fall was cushioned by the sofa, but Cas crashed onto the coffee table which broke under his weight. For a moment, he lay there, dazed, his body burning with fresh cuts from the glass fragments beneath him. A groan nearby made him turn his head, and he found himself inches from Sam, whose bleeding eyes bore into his.

“It’s about…” the demon king hissed through clenched teeth, “to get…a whole lot…worse.”

Hands found Cas’ arms, and Sandalphon pulled him to his feet. “Come, brother,” he said, grabbing Hannah’s hand and towing them to the broken window. Every step sent shooting pains up Cas’ body as they made their way across the demon-littered room.

The window was only a foot away when Sandalphon gasped. He looked down to find the end of a blade protruding from his stomach. Cas and Hannah watched in horror as Sandalphon’s eyes and mouth flashed with blue light, and he toppled onto the ground. They whirled around to find a panting demon holding a now-bloody angel blade. He pitched forward and tried to stab Cas, but Hannah yanked Cas out of the way and tackled the demon.

“Hannah,” he shouted over the roar of the multiple exorcisms, “let’s go!”

“Not without the—” The sound of breaking glass filled the room, and Cas pivoted to see the window with the sigil shattering into a thousand pieces. One of the demons must have thrown something at it. The roaring stopped, and those who had managed to cling to their vessels shook themselves out, getting to their feet.

Before he could make a move, Cas found himself, once again, being thrown against the wall – this time, the thin strip between windows. A moment later, Hannah was pinned there beside him.

Sam emerged from behind the sofa with his hand out as he held them there. Streaks of blood had made tracks down his face, and his hair glittered with little fragments of broken glass.

“So,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth, “this is how you respond to my generous offer? I’m disappointed, Cas.”

“Castiel,” Hannah whispered. He felt something cool press against his hand. An angel blade. Hannah must have managed to wrangle it from the demon who’d killed Sandalphon. He grasped it and fought against the hold on his body to look at her. Hannah’s face was battered and her eyes were wet, but she was looking at him with a fierceness he hadn’t seen before. Sam was still speaking, but Cas was only paying attention to her.

“Do what you do best,” she said softly. Her hand was on his, and energy, feeling like air to a drowning man, was beginning to seep into him. “Fix this.”

They simply looked at each other for the briefest second, but it was enough to relive the last six years of companionship, of trust and suffering and holding each other up when life was knocking them down.

“Hannah,” he murmured, suddenly terrified for his friend, but she smiled.

“Goodbye, Castiel. I hope we meet again.” Her blue eyes were the last thing he saw before light consumed him.

 

* * *

 

The last navy seal fell with the echoes of his screams still reverberating through the air. Dean stepped back, wiping away the globs of blood that had splattered on his face, and raised his red-stained hands in the air. The crowd went nuts, stomping and whistling and shrieking his name, and he reveled in the glory, the wild thrumming in his veins that made him feel almost high. He scooped up a decapitated head and walked over to the sidelines to throw it into the audience. They tripped over themselves to catch it, and he chuckled as he headed back to the locker room.

Damn, he felt good.

Dean had almost reached the doors when Crowley suddenly appeared.

“Sir,” he bowed his head, and Dean grinned, enjoying how much it must’ve killed him to do so.

“Dickhead,” Dean nodded. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

“I just though you would like to know that the king was recently attacked.”

Dean snorted. “So? How did Sam destroy them? Combustion? Burning in the Lake? Eaten by beetles?”

Crowley shook his head. “None of those. The attacker escaped, and His Majesty was hurt rather badly.”

That caught Dean’s attention, and his head snapped up. “What? Who was it? What happened?”

“It was…Castiel.”

He blinked, and the Mark began to smolder. “Son of a bitch.”

 

Dean strode into the oval office, knocking aside demons as he went. Sam sat on one of the sofas and was being attended to by Bela. He shoved her aside and took Sam’s face in his hands, searching for signs of injury. Besides the slight redness of his eyes, Sam seemed fine, maybe just a little worn out.  

“What happened?” Dean demanded as he released his brother. “Crowley said that Cas showed up here and busted you up.”

Sam sighed. “Not exactly. And damn that bastard Crowley. Who gave him the order to tell you what happened?”

“Why _didn’t_ you give him the order?” Dean snapped. “Cas comes to town, and you think I shouldn’t know about that? Be here for that?” Sam just gave him a look, and Dean exhaled through his teeth. “Fine. Whatever. What did he want anyway?”

Sam shrugged and reclined back. “He said he wanted to strike up a bargain – information in exchange for me stopping the killings of the humans. He had two other angels with him, Hannah – you remember her? Yeah, and this other guy who’s dead now.” He rubbed his temples. “Anyway, Cas started talking vaguely about stuff we already know, but I didn’t realize he was stalling. The other angel had drawn…I think it was an exorcism sigil.”

“An exorcism sigil?” Dean raised a brow. “What did that do to you?”

“What didn’t it do to me?” Sam groaned. “I’m fine now, anyway. But Cas got away. That bitch Hannah zapped him God knows where.”

“Where is Hannah?” he asked, glancing around.

“One of the other rooms. She’s unconscious, so I’ll have to interrogate her later, but finding Cas is my priority right now. And she’s the only one who knows where he is.”

“I got you.” Dean whistled, and a moment later, the sound of feet thumping against the ground filled the air as his Hellhound rushed to him. “Hey, Abaddog,” he crowed, squatting down to scratch behind her ears, “hey, girl. I’ve got a job for you.” Dean turned back to Sam. “Got anything with Cas’ scent on it?”

He pointed at the broken coffee table. “He fell on that, so I think that’s his blood.” Sam grinned. “I’ll never get over the name you chose for your hound.”

Dean plucked a bloody shard of glass from the pile and held it to the hound’s nose. “I named her after the biggest bitch I knew. Shut up, it’s clever.” Abaddog sniffed for a few seconds before barking and taking off through the window.

Dean stood up and stared after his hound, the Mark throbbing at the possibility of another hunt. “See you real soon, Cas,” he muttered.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Control" lyrics © 2015 by Halsey


	5. Figure It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire may have an angel in chains, but the only BDSM she participates in is Beating Demons and Slaying Monsters.

_***************************_

_“Nothing here to see_  
_Just a kid like me_  
 _Trying to cuss and see_  
 _Trying to figure it out”_

_****************************_

 

The church was silent save for the ragged breathing of the angel. Claire cupped the back of his neck - _he_ was really an ‘it’, but it was wearing a man as a vessel – as blue essence, _grace_ , seeped out of his throat and into her waiting vial. She noticed, once again, that there was less grace being drawn out than usual. For some reason, the angels were losing their power. She clicked her tongue with intrigue and reached back for the roll of bandage tape shoved in her back pocket. Tearing a strip off with her teeth, she tossed the roll on the ground and stuck the strip over the slit in the angel’s throat, forcing the small amount of remaining grace to stay inside him. He collapsed onto the floor of the altar as she released him, and she closed the vial, stashing it in her jacket pocket.

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Claire smiled, walking over to the pew with her duffel bag to retrieve the angel-proofed handcuffs she’d brought.

“Stay,” he wheezed, “away from me.”

She returned and squatted down in front of him. “Your name’s Purell, right?” She watched him struggle to move away from her, but he paused to glower. “Puriel,” he corrected.

“Obviously. Well, Purell, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for a while.” And with that, she grabbed his wrists and locked the cuffs around them. Then she rammed her elbow into his temple and knocked him out.

Claire nodded to herself. “Not bad at all.” Draping his arm over her shoulder and grasping him by the waist, she collected her tape and duffel and strolled out of the church.

Her car was parked in the lot, and it seemed to shimmer in the Kansas summer heat, nothing more than a mirage. That actually wasn’t too far off the mark. Possessing a functional car – even a jalopy like this one – was nothing short of a miracle, it being the End Times and all. But Claire didn’t believe in miracles, and that’s how she’d kept her wheels. She unlocked the trunk and shoved the angel inside, slamming it shut over him. Then she came around and slid into the front seat, pausing to look at the church.

It was a decrepit thing, all broken windows and defiled walls. The grass of the lawn was stained with God knew what, and sacrilegious images had been spray painted on every surface –pictures and words that made even Claire uncomfortable. The crucifix inside had been urinated on.

Apparently, demons had a penchant for blasphemy. Go figure.

But despite the desecration, angels were still drawn to these holy places like moths to a flame, as she had observed. This was probably the sixth halo she’d caught this month, and three of them she’d sacked right in that sanctuary. With such easy pickings, it was no wonder demons had taken over.

Of course, Claire hunted those black-eyed assclowns too. Just…not as often, or as easily. She was working on it.

The car rumbled to life as she started the ignition, and she pulled out of the lot, wishing for the millionth time that the radio worked. She would’ve killed for some Panic! at the Disco or Pierce The Veil or even – and it was only because it was the Apocalypse that she would ever stoop so low – some Lady Gaga. Anything. But the world was as silent as if a nuclear blast had gone off.

And in a way, one had.

Claire hummed to herself instead as she pulled onto the highway. A lot of civilization had been utterly demolished – buildings and skyscrapers, canals and railroads, sewers and cell phone towers, etc. But the roads were very much untouched. This had surprised her in the beginning, given that demons could zap anywhere at will. But she’d observed a surprising amount of them driving around. Maybe it was the freedom of the open road that attracted them – Hell probably didn’t have boulevards and roundabouts. And whenever Claire imagined freedom, _safety_ , it was always behind the wheel. Whatever the reason for the road preservation, she was glad for it.

The church was a half hour’s drive from her destination, and it was usually an uneventful journey. But as she approached the bridge that she had to cross to enter the more rural parts of town, her eyes zeroed in on a couple of demons loitering around like trolls with riddles. She counted at least five – too many for her to take on at once. They looked up at the sound of her car approaching and moved to block the passageway.

Fabulous.

Without stopping the car, she leaned over and rummaged around inside the glove compartment, her fingers closing over smooth glass.   

“Bingo,” Claire murmured as she freed the syringe from the clutter of miscellaneous crap. She held it up to light for a second to stare at the dark liquid sloshing around inside the large barrel, and then she pierced the delicate skin of her neck with the needle, releasing the foreign contents into her bloodstream.

It took a moment, but the effect was undeniable. Claire watched her pupils dilate in the rearview mirror and her veins darken to black for a moment. Her heart started thrumming, and she felt jarringly, viciously alive. Everything was sharper, colors were more saturated, and she inhaled deeply, feeling as if she were taking a breath for the first time.

She tossed the syringe into the backseat and drummed her fingers apprehensively on the wheel as she slowed to a stop before the demons. Her mouth was beginning to taste like rotten eggs – sulfur – and she tried to swallow it away.

The demons lazily made their way over to her, and she rolled down the window with a scowl. One demon, this one in the vessel of an Asian guy, rested his folded arms on the window frame and peered down at her with a grin.

“Mind moving your asses?” Claire snapped. “Some of us have places to be.”

“Just protocol, sweetheart,” he replied as he glanced around inside her car. “The boss put us on road duty – gotta monitor the streets, make sure no dumbass humans are trying to make a break for it.” His eyes returned to her, and he squinted, brows crinkling. “What’s with your face?” 

“Wow. You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean it’s blurry. And kinda glowing white – _human_ white. What the fuck am I looking at?”

Her hands were clammy, but she arrogantly tossed her hair back. “The human is still alive inside this meatsuit, okay?” Her tone was irritated and full of shame. “You’re probably just glimpsing her soul beneath mine. But don’t get your boxers in a twist, I’ll crush her eventually.” The demon frowned, but a yelp from behind pulled his attention away. It was one of the others.

“Raum, what is it?” he called. Claire glanced in the side mirror and saw that the other demons had crowded around the trunk of the car. She bit her lip.

“Trunk won’t open, Malphas,” Raum said. The demon in her window, Malphas, gave her a look and gestured for her to get out.  She swallowed a string of curses and stepped out, running her hand over the angel-blade sized lump in her jacket as she followed him to the back of the car.

The one who must have been Raum rapped his knuckles on the trunk and yanked his hand back when it seemed to burn him.

Malphas clicked his tongue and looked at Claire. “You wanna explain that?”

She shrugged. “I warded it to keep the riffraff out. No demon can open it.”

He raised a brow. “Including you?”

“No demon other than me,” she clarified. At their suspicious expressions, she sighed loudly. “It’s some high-level warding, okay? Blood recognition, some chanting. I don’t use that other basic shit.” This was a lie. It was a simple devil’s trap, and it didn’t affect her because she was human. But they didn’t know that.

Malphas stroked his wispy beard. “Okay. Say we believe you. What’s so important that you gotta keep it locked away from the rest of us?"

Shit. “Obviously it’s none of your damn business since I locked it away,” she said.

His eyes went dangerously cold. “Actually, it is our business. And if you don’t open that trunk right now, we’ll haul your ass over to the insurgency chamber. You really wanna go through interrogation? It’s all run by Alastair’s pupils.”

She didn’t know who Alastair was, but he sounded like he was the life of a party she never wanted to attend. “Fine. I’ll open it, but then you better let me be on my way.”

“We’ll see. Depends on what we find.”

Claire nodded and tried to remain nonchalant. She rattled off some Enochian gibberish for appearances – she’d said the warding needed chanting to be deactivated – and slowly opened the trunk, one hand sliding inside her jacket to grip the angel blade. The demons huddled around her and peered inside.

“That’s an angel,” Raum said after a beat.

“No shit,” Malphas replied. He turned to face Claire again. “The question is, why is there an angel? And more importantly, why is he alive? The king specifically said to kill all cloud-hoppers.”

“And I will kill him,” she answered honestly. “But I thought I’d have a little fun with him first, if you know what I mean?” She suppressed a cringe at that last part, but understanding seemed to strike the demons, and they nodded appreciatively. Hey, whatever got them off her back. “I just didn’t want to get in trouble with the boss for not icing him right away.”

“I got you, girl,” Malphas winked. Gross. “Your secret’s safe with us. Do your thing.” They laughed dirtily and backed off, wandering back to the bridge and leaving a wide berth for her to drive through.

She grinned at them and shut the trunk, her heart pounding. It was only as she was driving away, the demons shrinking to specks in her rearview mirror, that it slowed.

That had been too damn close.

 

The junkyard came into view after what felt like years of driving, and she maneuvered the car inside of it, parking it beside a towering pile of, well, junk. No one tried to steal a car from a junkyard, so it was the perfect storage place. And she also didn’t want to park it in the vicinity of where she lived, in case someone had been tracking the car. So this was a doubly good idea.

The only downside was the inevitable trek.

Claire popped open the trunk and dragged the unconscious angel out of it and into the wheelbarrow she’d found a while back. Then she began walking the three miles it took to reach the farm.

Yeah. She lived on a farm. It really was the end of the world.

Her travel time was much shorter today for some reason. Maybe it was the demon encounter jerking up her adrenaline levels or maybe she just wanted to be back in the relative safety of the farm, but she reached the place in just over fifteen minutes.

The farmland was in ruins – it had been for years, as far as she could tell. She steered the wheelbarrow through the charred corn fields, which were little more than ashy heaps that stretched for acres. In the distance sat a dilapidated house. Large sections of roof were missing, the walls were scorched and had holes in them, and the whole thing was dented, as if a giant had stepped on it. The inside was even worse. It was clear that demons had done this because their stink was all over the place, even after all this time. But Claire ignored the house and made her way to the barn next to it.

She slid the door open as she reached it and wheeled the angel in, not even pausing to wipe away her sweat as she shifted him from the wheelbarrow to the chair resting in the middle of the hay-covered floor.

The barn was a small place, made entirely of wood, and had probably once held horses given the stalls lining the perimeter. She’d wondered in the beginning why it hadn’t been burned or demolished the way rest of the farm had, but then she’d found the sigils and warding painted all over the walls. Whoever had been here before her had clearly known his stuff and must have used the place for squatting. But he was gone now, and here she was.

Puriel finally stirred as she shackled him to the chair with angel-proofed chains. Beside him was a table and foldable chair she’d salvaged from the house and dragged here. She sat down at the table and closed her eyes, feeling the burn in her muscles from the exertion ebb slowly. Claire was only twenty two, but she was already getting too old for this.

“Where are we?” the angel rasped. “How did you—oh lord, what happened to your face?”

She glanced at him with a smirk. “A demon said the same thing.”

Puriel kept gawking at her. “It’s—why is it black all of a sudden? And are those horns? But I can see your human soul too…” He shook his head. “What on earth happened to you?”

“I injected myself with demon blood,” she shrugged.

“My God,” he breathed. “Do you know what that will do to you?”

“Yeah. It helps me survive. It makes me look like a demon.”

Puriel shook his head again. “Not just _look_ like a demon. It will irreversibly change you into one.”

Claire paused. This was news to her, but she didn’t want to seem out of the loop, so she scoffed. “Relax, Purell. I only take it every couple of weeks, so it has enough time to leave my system.” This was true. Every time she shot up, her body felt different – _better_ , if she was being honest – but it always faded after a week, tops. She wasn’t an idiot. Or a junkie, for crying out loud.

“Where are you even getting the blood from?” he asked.

“I know a guy.” Well, her ‘guy’ was a demon she’d trapped in the farmhouse to systematically torture for information and draw blood from. But the angel didn’t need to know that. “Anyway, enough questions. I’m tired of your voice.”

Puriel suddenly seemed to remember where he was, and he strained weakly against the chains. “Please let me go,” he tried halfheartedly. “I promise I’ll leave you alone – all I want is to go home.”

“Oh, you’ll go home soon enough,” Claire smiled as she turned back to the table. On it sat two bowls covered with cling wrap, and she removed the plastic covers.

“What’s in those?” the angel asked.

“Myrrh. Bay leaves. Crushed roots and human blood. Other stuff.” 

It had taken her months to scrounge up all the necessary ingredients – enough for two bowls, at that – and now she had the final piece. Claire fished around inside her jacket and retrieved the vial of Puriel’s grace. “And now this.”

“Wait,” he said, alarmed, “what are you doing?” She ignored him and after exhaling slowly, dumped the contents of the vial into the bowl.

Immediately, small columns of gray fog shot up from the liquid medium and mixed with the grace like a mini hurricane. Her hair was blown back by the force of the spell, and she stared into the bowl, waiting. There, in the center of the fog, an image was starting to form. It was as if she were on a plane, looking down at the world with a bird’s-eye view. First it was the entire country shown in the bowl, and then the image zoomed in – Kansas, the town, the farm, and then the barn – with Puriel sitting in his chair. The image remained for a few seconds before dissolving.

It worked.

Claire clapped her hands and laughed excitedly. It worked! All those months of toil and close calls had been worth it. She flipped her blade in the air and caught it, grinning. This was it.

Puriel was shaking his head when she glanced over. “I don’t understand. That was a tracking spell, right? What was the point when I’m right here?” He sighed and muttered, “Of course I’d get captured by the psychotic hunter.”

“Test run,” she explained, still beaming. “Which was a success, so now for the real thing.” She leaned over and opened one of the drawers of the desk, pulling out a small wooden box. Inside of it was a syringe, this one a lot smaller than her demon blood one, and glowing within it was blue grace.

Grace she’d painstakingly drawn out of her own neck.

There was significantly less of it than she’d used for Puriel’s tracking spell. But whatever was in the syringe was what she’d been able to extract from herself. The process had been excruciating, and she’d almost passed out twice, but she’d gotten as much of it out as she could.

Now Claire bent over the second bowl, and after a moment of wild anticipation, she emptied the grace into it.

Just like before, gray fog rose from the liquid and swirled with the grace. But this time, after a minute, it fizzled out and dissipated. Then there was only silence and stillness.

“What?” She prodded the bowl expectantly. “Why isn’t it working?” Frustration like acid seared her veins, and she violently shook the bowl.

“I don’t think there was enough grace,” Puriel chimed in. “Who were you trying to find?” Claire ground her teeth together and raked a hand through her hair, falling back into the chair.

“The biggest dick of them all,” she seethed. “An angel named Castiel.”

There was a pause, and then Puriel said, “Castiel, huh?’

She looked over at him and narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. You know him?”

“Know him?” The angel chuckled darkly. “He’s almost as infamous as Lucifer.” Puriel nodded, calculating. “How about this? I help you track him, and you set me free. It’s a mutually beneficial scenario.”

She raised a brow, skeptical. “You can find him?”

“I am an angel. I do possess some supernatural abilities.”

After a beat, Claire nodded. “Fine. You’re on.”   

 

             

           

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, this chapter was a bitch to write. But here it is, amigos. I hope your eyeballs enjoy it. Mine are currently crying tears of blood.
> 
> "Figure It Out" lyrics © 2014 by Royal Blood


	6. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin is the Ariel to Cas' Prince Eric. 'Nuff said.

_**************************************************_

_“And darling never settle, settle, settle,_

_Chasing down the devil, devil,_

_Chasing down the gods, and I hope you find_

_I hope you find your dream”_

_**************************************************_

 

Light was a tornado engulfing Cas, indefinitely jerking him around like a ragdoll until finally it receded in a swirl and dropped him onto something solid and hard. He lay there and tried to breathe through the sharp pains sparking along his body, partly from the broken glass of the coffee table that had pierced him, partly from being chronically thrown around. He was beginning to gather that human bodies were not nearly as resilient as he’d imagined.

After a moment, he gingerly sat up and took stock of his surroundings. Cas’ heart sank as recognition settled on him. He was sitting at one of the pews of a church, staring up at the stained glass Mary frowning down at him from the window. Colored light leaked through the glass and illuminated dust motes swirling through the air. The candles at the altar were unlit, and the flowers resting at the foot of the cross were withered and dried. No one had been here for a very long time.

This wasn’t just some random place, though. It was the church – one of the last standing ones – that he and Hannah had often visited when they’d still believed there was hope. They would come and pray, to God, to Heaven, to anyone listening, for help. For direction. And other times, they would come just to snatch brief moments of peace. It was a special place for them. And now it would only be a special place for him.

Cas dropped his head in his hands and allowed grief to swallow him. Hannah must have used all her remaining grace to transport him here. Some of it must have also been transferred to him because he felt stronger, less drained. Whatever was left of her was definitely not angelic. If there was anything left of her. Sam surely would have ripped her apart by now.

His eyes burned with tears as he stood. Hannah had told him to fix this, so he would. And damn anything that tried to stop him. The angel blade was still clenched in his fist, and he stowed it away as he got up. He cast one last, fleeting look at Mary before marching out of the church.

Figuring out what the next step was in saving the world certainly made the top of his to-do list, but at the moment, Cas’ priority was finding the basics: food and shelter. The church stood in the middle of a razed town in Indiana – there was nothing salvageable here, no ramshackle convenience store with food or house for squatting. Everything was dust and ashes. He almost stepped on a human skull as he picked his way across the streets. No, he would have to leave the town to find sanctuary.

Cas, having been here before, followed his memory and eventually found his way to the gravel road leading out of the town. It was flanked on both sides by fields of wheat, and he began traversing its length. All he had on him was the blade up his trench coat sleeve. The White House demon guards had confiscated his backpack filled with supplies, and he was starting to feel the effects of dehydration.

He was also painfully aware of the empty space next to him where Hannah had once stood. If she were here with him now, she would’ve been simultaneously cursing the demons and the state of the world, and fussing over his injuries. And he would have looked over and smiled at her tiredly, fondly.

But she wasn’t here. And Cas wondered how long before he, too, would not be here.

The sun had been at its height in the sky when he’d begun walking, and it was now slowly drifting down towards the earth. Still not evening – but no longer midday. Cas’ grumbling stomach could attest to that. He was beginning to regret not taking the apple Sam had offered. 

Twice, he’d had to dive into the cover of wheat stalks as cars rumbled down the road. Demons, undoubtedly. They were the only ones with access to fuel…and cars.

Twice, he’d hid. And twice, he’d considered just stepping in front of the speeding vehicles and putting an end to it all. But Hannah’s words had stopped him. If he gave in, she would have died for nothing. He had to do this for her, for all of them.

But it was so hard. And he was so tired.

 _Fix this_.

He kept going.

 

Cas had been walking for a few hours when his head buzzed with static.

_Ca—iel…_

He pressed his fingers to his temple. Angel radio? After Heaven closed its doors, all telepathic communication had stopped working, so how was this possible? And that voice…who was that?

_—stiel. It’s—aire._

‘Aire’?

 _Claire…Novak._ The transmission was clear now. He stopped walking, amazed, and focused intently.

_I know it’s been a while, and you might not even be listening. But I need your help. Please. It’s an emergency, and I don’t know what to do._

Alarm trickled into his veins, and he shut his eyes, honing in on her location. Even doing that was difficult. The closest he could get was her general vicinity – somewhere in Wichita, Kansas.

_Please, Castiel. I need you._

The residual static faded, and Cas was left staring down the road with panic and wonder building in chest.

Claire. Jimmy’s daughter. Praying to him. How many years had it been since he’d heard her prayers in his head? Since he’d seen her? The last time…

His eyes tightened. The last time had been when her father was dying. Cas had assumed control of her vessel to save her, and he’d watched Jimmy die through her young eyes, felt her anguish like a tidal wave crashing over him. And then he’d left her there, just walked away.

If she was calling for him now, she must be in grave danger. He had to go to her. He had to help – everything else could wait. He owed her that much.

Wichita, Kansas. A couple of states over. With Hannah’s extra grace in him, he may have just enough power to make the trip in once piece.

He braced himself and inhaled deeply. Then, envisioning his trajectory, Cas launched himself through the air at speeds too fast for mortal eyes to register. Once again, light entwined itself around him, but now that he was in control, it didn’t feel as if he were being shoved inside a washing machine. It was more like being carried by rapids. Wind whistled through the feathers in his wings and carried him across the country. The world was a blur of sound and color.

Wichita was farther away than he’d imagined though, and Cas felt his wings begin to droop and his spine begin to ache halfway through. This wasn’t good. Grace seemed to burn away inside him like a match being consumed by fire, and his recent injuries weren’t helping. He struggled to keep aloft, but his wings were giving out, and blackness was starting to eat at the edges of his vision. Gravity tugged at him, but he strained against it. He had to help Claire. He had to save someone for once in his damned existence. But finally it was just too much, and his wings refused to hold.

Cas plummeted towards the ground, and his last thought before darkness swallowed him was that Claire deserved better.

 

He awoke to the sensation of metal slicing his flesh.

“Ow,” he jerked away and squinted up at the figure looming over him. It was a woman.

“Well, you’re not a shapeshifter, werewolf, demon, fang, or other nasty,” she nodded, sitting back on her haunches. She wiped the now blood-smeared silver knife on her pant leg and tucked it into her belt. She was also dripping wet. And so was he.

Cas sat up, slowly taking in his surroundings. He was on a pier. A ways behind them were streets and shops, all ransacked and deserted. Fog had settled over the river beneath them, but sunlight forced its way through the gloom and managed to illuminate the woman. It always felt like a phenomenon to Cas when he saw a human’s true face and not just her aura and soul, and the woman was no exception.

She was neither young nor old – by human standards, of course; by celestial standards, she was barely a zygote in the womb of the universe – but somewhere in the middle. Dark, curly hair was pulled out of her face, and wary eyes watched him. She had sepia skin, full lips, and a rifle slung over her shoulder.

“You checking me out?” she smirked.

Cas cocked his head. “I’m appreciating God’s handiwork. He may have been an absent, unknowable father, but his skill with creation is undeniable.”

The woman raised a brow. “I can’t tell if you’re flirting or stoned.” She shrugged. “But you’re human, far as I can tell, so…hey. I’m Robin. I found you floating in the water and pulled you out.”

He assessed her with new eyes. What a kind person she was to rescue him. “Thank you for that,” he said sincerely. “I’m Castiel.”

“Gesundheit.”

Cas crinkled his brow. “Why did you switch tongues?”

The woman—Robin looked confused. “Tongues?”

“When I told you my name—”

“You name? Oh, I thought you sneezed. Wait, ‘Castiel’ is your _name_?”

“Technically, it’s a translation of my name into the human sound spectrum,” he admitted. “The limited infrastructure in your ears could not pick up on the frequencies that my true name occurs at.” 

Robin whistled. “You’re one of them hippie stoners. Alright.” She settled down more comfortably on the pier and pulled one knee up to rest her chin on as she observed him. “So, _Castiel_. Why were you in the water when I found you? And why here, in Cape Girardeau? This place is a toxic wasteland.”

Cas frowned, struggling to remember. Using his grace had really knocked the wind out of him and—

Claire. Claire had prayed to him. She needed him.

“My…” What exactly was the nature of their relationship? “There’s a girl that needs me. I was trying to get to her when I ended up here. I think I fell and landed in the river.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to be careful on the piers. They can be slippery.” Robin grinned then. “But a lady friend, huh? Gotta keep the romance alive even when the world is dying.”

Cas considered this. “Yes, I suppose at this point she is now a lady, but ‘friend’ may not be the most accurate term. In all probability, she despises me.”

Robin blinked and shook her head. “Okay. Well where is this lady enemy of yours? If she’s in the area, I can give you a ride. We humans have to stick together, right?”

“She’s in Kansas.”

“Kansas State?” When Cas nodded, she sighed. “Sorry, man. That’s a little out of range for me. I’ve got something I need to do tonight, and a one-way trip alone to Kansas would take several hours.”

“I understand.” He ran a hand over his face, and Robin made a surprised sound.

“Dude, your hand looks broken,” she said with wide eyes. “What happened?”

Cas glanced down at it and noticed the way it had swelled up and darkened to a purplish blue. “I think a demon stepped on it.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it.” She got to her feet and gestured for him to follow. “C’mon. I’ve got a medical kit in the car.”

They made their way off the pier and onto the sidewalk running beside the broken down stores. The town was not only deserted, but it had a violent and pulsing energy to it. Cas frowned as he placed the weird vibes he was receiving. This place was radioactive – just as she’d said.

“Why did you come here if it’s toxic?” he squinted at Robin. She was a head shorter than him, he noticed as he walked beside her.

She shrugged. “I used to live here. You know, before. And I know it’s unhealthy to even breathe the air, but hey, I’d rather die from cancer than a demon.” She glanced at him, then looked away. “I come here to clear my head.”

“You clear your head with noxious gases and chemicals?”

“Alright, smartass,” Robin chuckled. “Point taken.”

The car was parked by a cemetery which now held dead grass and crumbling headstones. It was a banged up jeep that looked as if it had served on the front lines itself, but Robin knocked on its hood affectionately as she opened the door to the driver’s seat. He watched her rummage around inside for something, and she emerged a moment later grasping a white plastic box with a red cross on it.

“C’mere,” she beckoned him over, and Cas shuffled to her side. Gosh, was he sore. There were so many different kinds of pain flaring all over his body, it was a wonder he was even able to stay upright. Oh, to be an angel with iron skin and unyielding bones.

Robin took his fractured hand in hers and began gingerly wrapping a bandage around it. “You know,” she said, still focusing on her task, “I’ve got better supplies back at camp – which is a safe haven for survivors. I could make you an actual splint there. And it looks like you’re busted up all over. I’m sure some real rest would do you good.” She finally looked up and gave him a small smile. “Listen. I don’t know you from Adam, and I know you’ve got a girl to get back to. But it’s chaos out there – which, judging from your current state, I’m guessing you already know.” She released his hand after securing the bandage and leaned against the car. “Just know that you’d be safer if you went back with me.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” he asked. “I’m no one.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, don’t take it personally. I’m just trying to save what’s left of the world, including you.”           

Cas understood this all too well, but his reasons for doing the same were completely different. The Apocalypse was his fault. The Winchesters going dark side was on his head. But this woman, what was her motive? “Why?”

For the first time, Robin’s easy smile slipped. “Because I don’t know what else to do.”

He titled his head. There seemed to be layers of emotion buried beneath that simple answer. “Why did you pull me out of the water?”

“What?”

“I could’ve been a demon,” he continued. “Or another monster, or even a human gone rogue, and yet you still got me out. Why?”

“Well, yeah, you could have been a demon,” she agreed, “but you also could’ve been one of us. A terrified person, forced to go it alone. To survive in this impossible situation. So I wanted to give you a chance.” Robin shook her head and turned to fish around inside the kit sitting on the roof of the car, pulling out a small bottle. She shook two pills into her palm and gave them to him. “For the pain,” she said. “Anyway, it’s your life – I don’t want to force you to do anything. I’m just saying a couple nights of good sleep would do wonders for those bruises.”

Cas examined the pills in his hand and contemplated this. “Well,” he finally said. “It _is_ getting dark, and since I’ll be traveling on foot now anyway, I might as well get a fresh start in the morning.” Hopefully Claire was safe enough to last the night on her own. And if things got too bad, she would call for him again, right?

“Excellent,” Robin patted him on the shoulder. “Eat those pills. We’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of us.”

 

* * *

 

Hannah’s screams filled the air as Sam pushed another needle into her frontal lobe.

She was definitely awake now.

“How did he do it?” he shouted in her face, and she wailed, sobbing, “I don’t know! I swear – we never got to witness it!”

Sam growled and violently slashed his angel blade across her chest, shallow enough not to kill her but deep enough to hurt like a bitch. She cried out as her blood splattered the carpet of the guest room. He plunged the blade into her restrained hand, grinning viciously at her shrieks, and stormed out of the room.

Outside in the hall waited two guards, and he waved his hand, dismissing them. He needed a moment alone to clear his head. To rework his plan.

 _Damn_ those clueless angels. Didn’t any of them know anything? How had they gone eons without ever questioning their orders? Mindless dick monkeys.

“Sir, if I may?”

Sam looked over stonily to find Crowley standing beside him. “What did you call me?”

“Sorry – _my lord_ ,” he corrected himself, and Sam nodded.

“Remember your place, maggot. Now what do you want – I’m really not in the mood.”

Crowley smiled graciously. “I just thought it best to inform you that I’ve also been down this road before. I once picked apart an angel’s brain – his name was Samandriel, I believe – to see what I could learn from his coding. But the torture, his factory settings, none of it revealed what _you_ are seeking. It was just a bunch of angel tablet nonsense, and you already know the contents of the tablets.”

Sam ran a hand over his face tiredly. “So you’re saying she’s useless.”

“I’m saying,” Crowley leaned in conspiratorially, “you’re looking in the wrong place. There are two angels that we know of who have some semblance of knowledge of this topic. One is in the wind, but the other…”

“The other is right at my fingertips,” he breathed.

“Bingo.”

“Okay, good.” Sam pushed off the wall and gestured to the room behind him. “You finish her off – slowly. I’ll be back.”

“What about your brother?” Crowley called as Sam strode away. “Should I get him for you?”

“No, he’s hunting Cas. Let him play his Cat and Mouse game. Oh, and don’t go running off to tell him either,” he snapped as he rounded the corner.

This was something Sam had to do alone, and he didn’t need anyone getting in his way. Not Crowley, and especially not Dean. He grabbed his jacket from the wall hook on his way out of the White House and shrugged into it.

Hell was cold, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gold" lyrics © 2013 by Sir Sly


	7. Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Rihanna singing* Oh na na...what's Robin's real name? 
> 
> Also Sam. Sam is doing the thing which should not be done. Bad Sam.

_****************************************************_

_“I cry at the least little thing, buddy,_

_And I’ll die if you mention her name, buddy,_

_Talk to me, buddy,_

_Stay with me, buddy,_

_Let’s don’t let her get away with it, buddy,_

_Don’t ever let me start feelin’ lonely”_

_****************************************************_

 

The sun had begun sinking into the horizon as Robin drove. Castiel sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window and eating a granola bar she’d given him from the box stashed in the back.

Castiel. What a weird name. But it seemed to suit him, admittedly. He was one of the stranger ones – but there was also something about him that resonated with her. Maybe it was the raw pain that never seemed to leave his eyes – and _damn_ , he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Or maybe it was the weary hunch of his shoulders, the clench of his jaw that said he’d seen some shit. He was obviously a fighter, like her. A soldier. And if he’d had a run-in with a demon and gotten away…well, it was clear he could handle himself.

Needless to say, Robin was very curious about him, but she didn’t want to pry. His past was his business, and something about the way his Adam’s apple kept bobbing up and down, like he was holding back a river, made her hold her tongue. The last thing he probably needed was a nosy stranger.

But this silence was making her twitchy, so she said, “Hey, why don’t you open the glove box and pick out some tunes? Radio doesn’t work, of course, but I’ve got some CDs in there.”

“Okay.” Castiel inhaled the last of the bar, washing it down with some water from her canteen, and opened the compartment with his good hand, sifting through mess. As he leaned forward, her eyes fell on the myriad of rips on the back of his trench coat. Dried blood crusted the tears, and Robin bit her lip, forcing back her questions. Had the guy gone twelve rounds with a lawn mower? Jesus.

He sat back with a smile on his face, and she was surprised at how soft the expression made him look. In his hands was a Zeppelin CD she’d burned herself years back. Written on it in her careful scrawl was _Zep II – For the Road_.

“Good choice,” she approved. “You’re a classic rock fan, huh?”

He shrugged as he slid the CD into the slot. The guitar intro to _Ramble On_ started playing. “I have no preference for musical genres, but an old friend of mine very much enjoyed this group.” The nostalgia in his voice was thick.

“Oh, yeah?” she smiled. “What was his name?”

“Dean.”

Robin’s fingers spasmed on the wheel.

Dean. Dean? She forced her expression to stay neutral and her grip to relax. There were a million Deans on the planet – well, there had been. There was no way Castiel was talking about the one she used to know. And obviously he wasn’t referring to the demon running this damn shit show. No way. Of course not.

Regardless, she found herself jamming her thumb against the eject button and yanking the CD out. “How about a different one?” she managed.

Castiel looked concerned, but he obliged and put the disk back into the glove box, poking around for another one. Robin tried to slow her heart. What the fuck was wrong with her that just hearing his name set her on edge? It was like classical conditioning, but instead of Pavlov’s dogs drooling at the sound of the bell, she cringed at the sound of his name.

“What are these?” he asked. She glanced over and saw that he was looking through some of her fake IDs. “You’re a hunter?”

Robin raised a brow, momentarily distracted. Was Castiel a hunter too? Surely she would have remembered his name if it’d come up in the hunter circle. Maybe he was part of a different network. “Yeah. I used those for cases, back when revenants and rougarous were my biggest problems.”

“Iris West Allen, Lois Lane, Bridget Jones…” he trailed off. “These aliases are all fictional reporters, but I don’t recognize this last one.” He held up her old driver’s license. “Who is Cassie Robinson?”

Wow. She hadn’t heard that name in a while. “Um…that’s me.” At Castiel’s confused expression, she added, “That’s my real name. When the Apocalypse blew up, I changed it to Robin Blake as a safety measure. We were all being hunted.”

“Smart idea,” he nodded. “And I see where you got ‘Robin’ from, but what about ‘Blake’?”

Her fingers went to the ring on her left hand subconsciously. “That was my husband’s last name. He insisted I take it.”

“Is he back at the camp?”

“He’s dead.” Her voice was emotionless, which was good because the alternative was screaming. “He was killed during the first wave of demons.”

Castiel seemed to sense that Robin was struggling to stay calm because he said, “You know, my friends changed my name for me too. They shortened it to just ‘Cas’.”

She looked over at him and was met with a gentleness that was all but extinct now from the world. “Cassie and Cas,” she managed a smile. “I like it.” 

“So do I.”

Robin turned her eyes back to the road, and Castiel – _Cas_ went back to staring out the window.

The spent the rest of the drive in silence.

 

The last couple of miles from the camp were off-road, through a forest. The jeep went easily over the dirt path worn smooth from the recent years of being driven over. Pines and cedars towered over them and threw growing shadows across the path. Night was falling in earnest as Robin pulled up to the chain link fence surrounding the camp.

After she and Cas were checked by the guards, which involved drinking holy water, showing their fangless teeth, and being cut by a plethora of knives made of different metals, she rolled the car inside the perimeter and parked it by the other vehicles. Robin smiled reassuringly at Cas, who looked almost nervous, and they got out of the car.

The sky was still darkening, but the lamps had been turned on around the camp, washing the grass and the cabins in a warm glow. Judging by the buzz of activity in the mess hall, most people were having dinner. Figures, with the recent haul. But the war room was also alive and full. Robin checked her watch – 6:15 PM. Almost go time.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary—” she broke off at Castiel’s expression. He was drinking in the place with such wonder, such relief and profound disbelief that she almost felt as if she were spying on a vulnerable moment.

“Cas?” she said gently. “You alright?”

“I just…” his voice was rough. “I didn’t realize there were so many humans still alive.”

“Oh, we’re still here.” She twirled the ring on her finger. “And we’re not leaving without a fight.” 

“Robin!” They turned to find Eileen hurrying over to them. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Hey, sorry. I went home for a bit.”

Eileen frowned. “That’s not your home anymore, and you shouldn’t be going off alone, and—” She finally noticed Cas. “Hi. Who are you?”

“Castiel.”

She crinkled her brow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Did you just say ‘ass-hell’?”

Robin snorted and explained to Cas, “Eileen is deaf and often relies on lip-reading to communicate with hearing people,” while signing C-A-S-T-I-E-L to the other hunter. “She’s really good at it, but sometimes unfamiliar or foreign words can catch her off guard.”

Cas considered this. “I suppose I am foreign,” he decided. Then he reached out, almost as if he wanted to touch Eileen’s ears, but he dropped his hand with a frustrated sigh. They stared at him for beat before Robin turned back to her friend.

“You were saying?” she prompted. 

“Right,’” Eileen nodded. “While you were gone, some of the newbies broke into the interrogation cabin and tried to kill the demon.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I forced them out before they could do anything too stupid, but Robin,” she bit her lip, “they’re getting restless. Having a demon at camp isn’t going over too well with people.”

“It’s not ‘going over too well’ with them?” she growled. “It’s not their call to make. Ugh, don’t those idiots know how dangerous it is to fuck with a demon? God!”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger,” Eileen held her hands up.  

Robin glanced at her friend and softened slightly. “You’re right. Sorry, Ei.” She exhaled through clenched teeth. “I’ll deal with them later, but right now I’ve gotta figure out what to do about the demon.”

“Well, what did you do with the others in the past?”

“I chopped them up and scattered the pieces,” she said, drumming her fingers on the roof of the car as she thought. “But this guy knows too much. I don’t want him stitching himself back together and ratting us out to the higher ups. I need a way to end him permanently.”

“Will this do?” Cas asked. They both looked over as he pulled a long, silver blade out from inside his coat.

Robin blinked. “That’s an angel blade.” She stared at it with wide eyes, running a hand through her hair in awe. “Where did you get that?”

“Off a demon. He’s dead now,” he clarified.

“Cas,” Robin grinned. “You’re awesome.” Cas smiled bashfully as he handed her the blade, and she nodded. “Alright. Let’s go pop that black-eyed weasel.”

 

The demon’s name was Andras, and he was significantly bloodier than when Robin had last seen him, which was saying something considering what she’d done to him.

“Well, look who just couldn’t stay away,” he grinned, red staining his teeth and dripping down his chin. His hair was matted, his clothes were near shredded, and very little of his skin was left unmarred. “Missed daddy too much, huh?”

Robin wrinkled her nose in disgust as she approached him, Eileen and Cas behind her. The cabin was a mess, too. Broken furniture, blood on the floor, her interrogation instruments scattered everywhere. She gritted her teeth and began mentally compiling a list of punishments for those hooligans. Or maybe she’d just give them an old fashioned beat down instead.

“Guess what I found,” she murmured, untucking the blade from her belt and twirling it. The cocky grin slipped from the demon’s face and found its way to hers. Now this was the part she enjoyed very much.

But then she realized he wasn’t looking at the blade – or her, for that matter. Andras was staring right over her shoulder, his eyes going black, and she followed his gaze to see—

“Castiel?” the demon laughed. It was a horrible sound, malicious and gleeful. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Robin and Eileen stared at Cas, who looked equally surprised. “You know this clown?” Robin gestured to the demon. She was starting to rethink her stance on allowing him his privacy. It was her policy to save any and all humans she came across, no questions asked, and Cas seemed nice enough. But the guy was also shady as fuck. First, the endless injuries – hell, she’d pulled him out of a river, for crying out loud. He was the first person she’d met in a long time who actually owned an angel blade, and now he apparently knew this random demon too? Seriously, who _was_ he?

“I don’t think so,” Cas squinted at the demon.      

“But I know you,” Andras said. “After all, you’re the reason this was all possible, right? I should be thanking you. And you know, you’d make one hell of a demon,” he added. “Hit me up if you’re ever interested, and we’ll swap those blue eyes for black ones. Or – ooh, red, maybe? That would look good—”

In one swift movement, Cas snatched the angel blade out of Robin’s hand and plunged it into the demon’s chest.

“Cas!” But her shout was drowned out by the screams of the demon as red light flared from inside him. Cas twisted the blade sharply and yanked it back out, and Andras’ head fell forward. The light faded. He was dead.

"What the hell, man?” she demanded, but Castiel’s eyes were wild and unfocused. “Hey!” Robin gripped his shoulder. His gaze sharpened for a moment, long enough to shoot her an apologetic glance, and then he drew away and stalked out of the cabin.

She stared after him in shock and then looked to Eileen with exasperation. 

The other hunter shrugged. “That’s what you get for saving a guy named ass-hell,” she said.

“Oh my god,” Robin groaned.

 

* * *

 

Sam may have been the king of the Pit, but even he hated entering Hell. Maybe it was some weird PTSD thing from his time spent here as a human, but he kept his eyes trained on a point in front of him as he made his way across the nightmarish landscape. It was mostly empty now anyway.

 _And all the devils aren’t here_ , he joked to himself. Still, the stench and the glacial temperature and the wailing chorus of the damned souls…well, it wasn’t pleasant.

Hell’s sky was an endless expanse of chains crisscrossing each other, like an infinite spider web. The damned had affectionately nicknamed it “the Rack.” It was accurate, to say the least. Thousands of souls were hopelessly tangled in the web, and random demons who’d grown bored of being topside flitted about it, tearing into the humans mercilessly. Globs of their blood and chunks of their flesh rained down around Sam, and he wiped the mess from his face with irritation. This had to violate at least a dozen health codes. Disgusting. 

As he crossed the godforsaken land, beasts of all shapes and sizes gathered curiously around to see him. When they realized it was their king, they bowed their heads and respectfully drew away. For the most part, he ignored them and focused on the point ahead.  

About a mile away was the Lake, which meant he was nearing the center of Hell. Rolling his shoulders back, Sam unfurled his wings – he’d never realized as a human that demons had wings, but hey, he wasn’t complaining now – and shot up off the ground. The dark world rushed by as he streaked through the dank air. The Rack grew closer and closer, but as he drew nearer, Sam curved his trajectory until he was soaring parallel to the chains instead of toward it. He flew impossibly close to the souls, occasionally clawing at their faces as he passed just for kicks, and followed the Rack for what seemed like an eternity

Then finally, finally, the end came into sight. The edge of the Rack, the edge of Hell. But as Sam reached the end of it, instead of stopping, he flew straight upwards again. The Rack also careened upwards at a ninety degree angle, and he laughed at the memory of the first time he’d realized this.

The ‘Rack’ was actually just the bottom of the Cage. Lucifer’s cage.

He slowed his flight and hovered in the air, his great wings beating hard and fast to keep him aloft. Sam reached out and rattled the chain wall, calling out, “Knock, knock.”

The inside of the Cage was shadowy darkness, but at that moment, red eyes flickered to life in the distance. Unblinking, unmoving. And then a smile appeared below them, as if Sam were approaching the Cheshire cat.

“Well, if it isn’t my old roomie,” a horribly familiar voice said. Much to Sam’s irritation, the hair on his arms still raised at the sound. But unlike when he was human, unbridled, chaotic rage bubbled inside him. One day, probably in the near future, he would get his revenge. One day, he would crush the fallen angel’s head beneath his boot.

Lucifer emerged from the shadows. Despite his astoundingly corrupted soul, he was still the brightest thing in Hell. His soul – well, neither angels nor demons really had souls, but what else would you call their raw forms? – glowed dimly in the gloom like a candle. And if Sam squinted, he could just make out another small glow farther away. Michael.

“What brings you back to my humble abode, Sam?” Lucifer asked as he swaggered over. “Wait, let me guess,” he held up a finger. “Now that the Apocalypse is over, you’re bored and you want my advice on how to spice things up.”

“Close,” Sam admitted. “I want you to tell me everything you know about God.”

“Dad?” Lucifer scrunched up his nose. “Now why would you be interested in that old has-been? And why do you think I would tell you anything?”

“Because,” his lips pulled up in a terrible grin, “I’m gonna make your dreams a reality.”

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Buddy" lyrics © 1969 by Willie Nelson


	8. Amsterdam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas strips for Robin. It's a fun time >.>
> 
> *Warning: brief allusion to suicidal thoughts - canon typical

_***************************************************************_

_“I’m sorry, brother, I’m sorry I let you down_

_Well these days you’re fine, no these days you tend to lie”_

_*****************************************************************_

 

Robin found Castiel sitting on the hood of her car, absently wiping the bloodstained angel blade on the end of his trench coat as he stared into the distance. His coat was such a mess by this point, she almost wanted to salt and burn it. That thing needed to be put to rest.

“Hey,” she said as she settled beside him, keeping a careful distance between them in case he went crazy again and tried to stab her. “We need to talk about what happened back there.”

He just exhaled and tipped his head back tiredly. “I think it would be best if I just leave. Thank you for your hospitality though, Cassie.”

“Robin,” she corrected him. “I’m not asking you to leave, Cas, but I do have a responsibility to the other survivors. I need to know that I’m not endangering them by having you here – and I mean that in the least bitchy way possible.” She gestured to his ruined coat. “You’ve got a lot of baggage, looks like, and I get that. I don’t need to know the details. But that demon said he should be thanking you. You understand that it doesn’t look good on your resume when a demon owes you a debt of gratitude, right?”

“Why would I put that on my resume?”

Robin rolled her eyes to the heavens. “All I’m saying is, be straight with me. I just need to know that you’re not a threat to the rest of us. What was the demon talking about?”

Cas’ face was drawn with pain and he stared at the ground for a while, as if gathering up his nerve, before finally speaking. “I had a few opportunities in the past to prevent this Apocalypse from happening, but…”

“But?”

“I was weak.” He took a shuddering breath. “I had my…health taken from me, and instead of focusing my remaining strength on stopping the demons, on saving my friends, I saved myself. And now looks what’s come of it.”

Robin pinched the bridge of her nose, processing this. “Okay,” she nodded. “I mean, that was a really vague explanation, but I see where you’re going. And look, from what I gather, you didn’t _cause_ the end of the world, so don’t be so quick to call yourself the bad guy, okay? I mean it sucks that you couldn’t stop this because a lot of people are dead now—” She broke off, sighing. This was too much to take in at the moment. She needed a quiet minute alone to sort through her thoughts, her churning feelings. “I guess all I really need to know is, are we gonna have a problem, you and me?”

Cas finally met her eyes, and the exhaustion she saw in them seemed centuries old. “I fervently hope not,” he whispered.

She nodded again, not totally satisfied with his answer, but he was only staying the night anyway. Then he was off to save his damsel.

Actually, she had her own damsels to save too.

“C’mon,” Robin stood. “Let’s get a splint on that hand and a shit ton of antiseptic wipes on those cuts. Last thing you need is blood poisoning.” 

 

The infirmary was empty, as it had been lately. The recent ration raids had been pretty uneventful, and Robin hadn’t rescued another human in a while. No need to make use of the medical cabin.

She directed Cas to a cot to sit on and made her way to the cabinets resting by the windows, combing through them for alcohol wipes, thread and a needle in case he needed stitches, and splint materials. After gathering her supplies and dumping them beside him on the cot, she went over to the sink and washed her hands. The water came from a well that had been set up long before the Apocalypse – praise Jesus.

Robin returned to the cot and had Cas remove his coat and suit – how was he wearing so many layers in the middle of summer? – until he was finally just in his red-splattered white shirt and tie.

“I like your whole _Constantine_ look, by the way,” she commented as she rolled up his sleeve to better expose his hand. Cas squinted at her, and she continued, “You know, the trench coat and tie, like the comic book character. Is this a cosplay kinda thing or were you some sort of accountant before?”

Before he could answer, the door burst open and hunters strode in. Specifically, Krissy Chambers and her posse of rage-driven teenagers, which included the likes of Josephine Barnes and Aidan…Robin still didn’t know his last name. 

“Well, if it isn’t the kids in America,” she sat back. “You know the doors don’t require that much force to open, right?”

“We heard you’re going on a mission,” Krissy said in lieu of an answer. “We want it.”

Robin sighed. What was with everyone and always wanting to be on the front lines? “I already have enough volunteers, guys. The vans can’t hold that many people.”

“We’ll sit in the trunk,” Aidan tried.

“Once we free the prisoners, even the trunks will be full. But you know what,” she smiled, “I could use your expertise elsewhere. Why don’t you three find some of the newer survivors and teach them how to shoot a gun or make salt rounds? They have to learn at some point, and who better to instruct them than you all?”

The hunters glanced at each other, and Josephine said, “Robin, please. We just want to help save people.”

“And you are. You’ll teach people to save themselves.” They kept staring at her as if waiting for her to change her mind, but she wasn’t going to. Not about this. “Next time, okay? You can come with me on the next mission.” That was a blatant lie, but Robin didn’t have time right now to sit and debate them. And she tried not to order around the teenagers too much, the way she did with the adults. The world might have ended, but they still didn’t respond well to authority.

Shrugging in pissed-off defeat, they filed out of the cabin, and Robin ran a hand over her face, muttering, “Kids these days with their texting and hero complexes.” When she looked up, Cas was almost smiling, and she raised a brow. “What are you grinning about, ass hell?”

“I don’t approve of that nickname, you know.”

“Good.” She went back to patching him up, and both of them were smiling now.

 

It didn’t take Robin very long to fix Cas up. He was a model patient, and this was familiar, almost comforting work for her. When she was done, she sat back and admired her handiwork.

“Thank you, Robin,” Cas said earnestly. “I didn’t realize how badly I was injured, and no one has ever tended to me before in this way. I feel much better.”

“If you’re trying to say that you want to leave tonight, don’t. You need rest, man.” She stretched and stood.

“No, I’m trying to say that I want to help you with your mission.”

“Oh, not you too,” Robin groaned. “Cas, the whole point of bringing you here – besides the safety – was so you could recharge. We’re going to free some people being tortured by demons. That’s not exactly a cake walk, and you have a broken hand.”

He stood almost defiantly, and his height only added to the effect. “Well, I also have an angel blade, unlike you, I might add, and I have experience with demons. I could be an asset.”

“Why do you even want to come?” she sighed.

Cas dropped his gaze and pretended to study his splint, but she could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was tense. “It was my job – my purpose, once, to save humans. To watch over them and protect them. And I’ve failed in every way imaginable.” He gaze fell on the angel blade resting beside his coat. “I need to do what little good I can, or I might as well end my existence.”

“Whoa, hey,” Robin said, coming over to him. She lifted her hand as if to touch him, but then she dropped it, unsure if that was too familiar a gesture. After all, she’d just met him today. “Cas, your value isn’t measured by what you can do for other people. Your life, just like every life, is precious and should be protected. Don’t ever get that twisted.” He looked up at her with those heavy eyes, and she smiled encouragingly. “And it’s hard enough to survive when demons want us dead. Don’t give them what they want, you understand me?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, and she patted his shoulder.  

“Good. And I guess I can find room to squeeze you in, but don’t tell those kids because they _will_ throw my clothes in the lake again.”

 

The war room was packed by the time Robin showed up, her own duffel bag full of weapons slung over her shoulder. She’d retied her hair, forced Cas to scarf down a quick dinner of baked beans with her, assigned Garth a temporary role as leader – he’d hugged her for a solid three minutes upon hearing this – and now she and Cas stood at the cabin’s threshold, surveying the scene. The hunters were all gathered, dressed in dark clothes, making final preparations, talking solemnly.

“Everyone all set?” she said over the chatter, and they quieted down. Nods went around the room. “Great. And you all know the procedure, correct? I’ll repeat it anyway before one of you decides it’s your night to be a bad boy who doesn’t play by the rules. Let’s be clear: my procedure is tried and true. If any of you have a problem with it or go off course, I will not hesitate to smack you mercilessly.” A few chuckles broke out and relieved some of the nerves in the room. “But seriously,” she said. “I will sideline you permanently if you try any funny business. This is not the time to fuck around. Now.” She set down her duffel on the table and unzipped it, pulling out a tape recorder and a battery-powered speaker. “Each group has their own set of these. The recorders have an exorcism on them, and once you plug them into the speakers, it’ll play on loop. Keep the speakers out of the sight of the demons or they’ll destroy them, and it’s not like we can just hop on down to the nearest Best Buy and replace them.

“Remember, we’re not going there to fight the demons. Our priority is getting those people out. The bastard I interrogated said there were about twenty or so demons, so we match their numbers – but not their strength. We are not going on the offensive, okay?” She stared them all down, waiting for someone to challenge her. These people were thirsty for revenge. “It’ll be a bloodbath. We’re going for a zero causality game – no one dies tonight unless they have black eyes, and Cas here is the only one with a demon-killing magic stick.” She grabbed his arm and waved his hand, which gripped the angel blade, around. “Just get them exorcised so they won’t follow us back, and get the prisoners out.” 

“Excuse me, sorry,” one of the civilians-turned-recent-hunter interrupted, raising her hand. “I’m just wondering how an exorcism will help us if Hell’s gates are permanently open.” She cocked her head. “They are open, right?”’

Robin shook her head. “Yes and no. The doors were actually destroyed a while back, as far as I know – there’s nothing keeping anything in or holding anything out. So yeah, sending the demons back into the Pit won’t keep them there, but it’ll buy us some time.”

The hunters looked at each other in resignation. They had suspected as much about the doors, but this was their confirmation that there was no going back to how it was before, to safety.

“Anyway,” Robin continued, “you should also have holy water and extra rock salt rounds in your duffels. It won’t put them down, obviously, but it’ll delay them. Ennis’ group, Cara’s group, and Tracy’s group will handle the exorcisms and diversions, while Billy’s and my group will take care of the prisoners. There are medical supplies in all the vans, so once the prisoners are loaded, you can attend to any immediate injuries. Are there any questions?”

The room was silent except for the nearly audible hum of anticipation. Robin put the recorder and speaker back in her bag and zipped it up, slinging it over her shoulder. “If we’re fast and careful, there’s no reason all of us shouldn’t make it back here alive and unharmed. Remember to watch your backs and your partners’ backs,” she added, glancing at Eileen across the room. Robin didn’t plan to take her eyes off her friend for even a second, but at the moment, she did, looking around instead at the world-weary faces watching her. “They can break our planet, our bodies, and our lives, but they won’t break our spirits!”

The room erupted in cheers that were more like war cries, and the hunters filtered out of the cabin, breaking off into their groups. Eileen, Cas, Roy, and Walt gathered at her side, and she nodded at them. “It’s go time, kids.”

 

* * *

 

Cas had wanted to ride shotgun, but Eileen beat him to the punch, and he ended up sandwiched in the back between Roy and Walt, two gruff and vaguely sweaty hunters. Robin was behind the wheel, and she put on a CD as she backed out of the perimeter.

Walt scrunched up his face as B.B. King’s raspy voice came on – and Cas recognized it because apparently when Metatron had flooded his brain with pop culture knowledge, he’d even included famous voices. “I ain’t a fan of blues, sweetheart,” the hunter called over the music.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Robin said as she passed the fence and began driving down the forest path. She switched on the headlights, and Cas felt the back of his neck being lit by the headlights of the vans following them. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Walt. I’ll tell you what though. When _you_ drive, we’ll listen to whatever redneck country crooner you like, but until then,” she turned up the volume, “close your mouth and enjoy some real music.”

Walt settled back, grumbling incoherently, and Cas suppressed a smile. He was liking Robin more and more – but perhaps that was a bad thing. After all, everyone he had ever cared for had met with a miserable fate. Dean, Sam, Hannah, Kevin, Gabriel, Claire. The list went on. No, Robin may very well have been one of the last remaining good people, and he wasn’t about to destroy that. As soon as this mission was over, he was hitting the road to help Claire. If he was lucky, maybe Robin would offer him some food for the journey.

He ran his fingers over his splint, already sad at the thought of leaving. It was so nice to be around people again. He’d forgotten how much he loved humans, their seemingly infinite emotional spectrum, their refusal to surrender. Perhaps his father had made a lot of mistakes, but humanity was not one of them.

“Oh, hey, Cas,” Robin called, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, “do you have an anti-possession tattoo or charm on you by any chance?”

No, he didn’t, because he was the creature that did the possessing. “Uh, no.”

She nodded to Eileen, who fished around inside the glove box and retrieved a sharpie. She tossed it back to him, and Robin said to him, “Have Roy or Walt draw one on your arm. I don’t want you catching a demon. I hear they’re worse than STDs.”

Cas bit back a sigh and handed the marker to Roy, who seemed marginally less grumpy than Walt. It was easier than explaining his slowly fading angel-ness, and now that Jimmy was gone, the symbol wouldn’t affect him. And okay, maybe he also didn’t want Robin to reject him once she found out he wasn’t human like her. He rolled up the sleeve of his good arm and allowed Roy to draw on his flesh.

Once they hit the highway, Robin and the vans turned off their headlights. Cas’ eyes could still detect things clearly because of what he was, but the hunters must have had practice driving without illumination greater than the moon. And in the moonlight, he watched as Robin and Eileen had a conversation in sign language.

 _So what’s his deal?_ Eileen signed. Of course, the syntax was different but the meaning was the same, and just like all verbal languages, Cas could understand ASL. Walt and Roy, on the other hand, either didn’t understand or they didn’t care because they were both staring out the windows, Walt flicking the safety on the gun at his waist idly. Cas imperceptibly scooted away from him. Guns had more of an impact on him now that he was more or less human.

 _Who?_ Robin replied with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. _C-A-S-T-I-E-L_?

_We need to give him a name sign. And yeah, him._

Robin shrugged. _I found him floating in the river back at home—_

 _That’s not your home,_ Eileen signed before she could even finish the sentence. _Your home is with us, with me. That place is nothing but a radioactive memory._

 _Fine. I found him there and pulled him out of the water_.

_And?_

_And nothing_ , Robin glanced at her. _He was human, so I brought him back to camp._

Eileen exhaled slowly. _I know you’re trying to be a good person, but these aren’t just stray puppies hiding from the rain. These are people. People who have been alone and scared and hunted. They could attack you for your car, for your clothes! You don’t allow anyone else to go off alone, but you have no problem—_

 _Eileen_. At least, Cas figured that was her name sign. It was an ‘e’ combined with the motion of the “loyalty” sign.

 _Robin_ , Eileen answered. Robin’s name sign was an ‘r’ combined with the motion of the shooting-gun sign.

_I’m sorry for worrying you._

Eileen’s pinched expression softened from what Cas could see. _Thank you. And I trust you. I just don’t trust them._ She glanced back, and Cas pretended to study the roof of the car. Eileen frowned and turned back to the front again. _You trust him_? she asked.

Robin sighed. _I don’t know. He’s nice. Odd. He doesn’t strike me as evil incarnate. And he’s human, which makes him one of ours._

_How?_

_What do you mean ‘how’?_ She tore her eyes from the road to stare at Eileen. _It’s the Apocalypse, which means if you’re not a demon or monster, you’re on our side._

Eileen shook her head in frustration. _The Apocalypse ended, Robin. We’re post-apocalypse now. They won._

 _No._ Cas could see through the gap in the head rest that Robin’s shoulders were taut. _They don’t win until every last one of us, including C-A-S, is dead._

_Robin—_

But she waved her hand at Eileen and shook her head. The conversation was over.

Cas swallowed the bitter grief that had flooded his mouth. The deaf hunter was right. The war was over – they had lost, and he’d let it happen. He closed his eyes against the hopelessness, and when he opened them again, he found Robin watching him in the rearview mirror.

He stared back at her, and after a moment, she gave him the weariest look. Cas had never been good at reading body language, but he understood this expression.

She was begging him not to let her down.

He looked away.

 

* * *

Apparently Hannah had zapped Cas halfway across the country because Abaddog kept bounding through the shadows from state to state. Didn’t matter. Dean enjoyed the rush of the hunt, and what better game than an angel on the run?

He was in Pennsylvania now, squatting beside a set of scorched wing marks burned into a field, when Crowley popped into existence a foot away from him. Abaddog jerked her head up and growled at the new demon, rumbling the earth. Dean lazily held his hand out to her to calm her.

“I didn’t order any whores,” he drawled, eyeing the pressure points hidden beneath Crowley’s suit. Night had fallen, and it had been a few hours since he’d last killed. The Mark was getting impatient, and he allowed himself a moment to imagine plunging the blade into the soft, meaty flesh of Crowley’s neck, feeling the warm blood seep over his hands—

“You’re being summoned,” the demon said, ripping Dean from his reverie.

“Sam? I thought he was busy playing Frankenstein with Hannah.”

“She’s dead.”

“Ah. Another bitch bites the dust.” He reached over and ruffled his hound’s fur, picturing Hannah’s hopefully gory death. “So, what? Sam wants to talk about his feelings? Get to the point, dude.”

“His Majesty is…” Crowley shook his head, “throwing a party, and he wants you there.”

Dean paused and stared at the demon. A cool wind ran its fingers through his hair as he said, “Sam? Hosting a party?” He chuckled. “Wow, it really is the End Times, huh? What’s the occasion?”

“He’s celebrating – he found what he was looking for, apparently.”

“His dick?”

Crowley eyes were full of some emotion Dean couldn’t quite read. “No,” he said quietly. “God.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: finals week is upon us, so if you don't hear from me again, it's because I spontaneously combusted in the middle of an exam. 
> 
> "Amsterdam" lyrics © 2012 by Imagine Dragons


	9. Glory and Gore: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All hell breaks loose.
> 
> Warning: allusion to rape and torture

******************************************

_“You can try and take us (oh, oh)_

_But we’re the gladiators (oh, oh)_

_Everyone a rager (oh, oh)_

_But secretly they’re saviors”_

_******************************************_

 

The Cainsville water mill was half a mile away from the storage unit complex, but the hunters didn’t want to risk the vans being heard by the demons, so they parked by the mill – which was now decrepit and overgrown with vegetation – and stepped out into dark night. The air smelled of sulfur and hummed with the promise of blood and salvation.

The exorcism and diversion teams went ahead first, one by one, branching out to cover more ground as they got closer to the complex. Billy’s group remained along with Robin’s. Their responsibility was the actual freeing of prisoners, and as the diversion groups got ahead, they made final preparations, securing weapons and retying laces on boots. Robin distributed extra pairs of bolt cutters to Billy’s hunters, feeling calm wash over her. Nothing settled her nerves like a mission.

There had been a time when even looking at a gun had made her anxious, when her preferred weapon had been a pen. Now the cool metal of the .45 at her hip was as familiar as her own skin, the shotgun strapped to her shoulder an extension of her. She adjusted the strap of the duffel over her other shoulder and nodded to the others, not bothering to give them a pep talk or a final spiel because they were all going to make it back just fine. Eileen and Cas flanked her, wielding their own weapons, and all of them set off down the road.

 

It was about ten minutes later that the complex finally came into full view – a strip of land beside a deserted road in the middle of seemingly nowhere, with metal units like blocks lined up along the cement ground.

And inside those units were human prisoners being tortured to the breaking point. As Robin got closer, she saw that the units were shut, but light pooled from beneath the sliding doors along with muffled screams. A few figures, presumably demons, loitered around the perimeter, drinking what looked like beers and laughing raucously. The rest were inside with the humans.

The hunters crept along the roadside, hugging the stretch of trees that lined it, and soon all the teams were gathered once again. They all looked to Robin, and with a grin, she gave them a thumbs up.

A moment later, Latin chanting blared from multiple speakers as if a chorus of Roman priests had suddenly descended from the heavens. There was a moment of shock from the demons as their heads whipped around in confusion, and then they started to writhe.

The hunters charged.

Chaos ensued pretty quickly. The sliding doors of the units jerked upwards as demons poured out at the ruckus, and their shouts mingled with the thunderous clap of bullets firing and hunters yelling and exorcisms looping. Robin plowed through the crush of bodies, ducking and weaving through fists and elbows and knives, taking a few hits with grunts as she went. Her eyes barely blinked as she scanned the scene for oncoming attack or a hunter that needed help. They were doing well, for the most part. A lot of the demons were succumbing to the recordings, and she was careful to kick the ones convulsing on the ground as ran.

She’d almost made it to one of the units when something suddenly barreled into her, and Robin went crashing down, her duffel flying off her shoulder. She landed sharply on her back against the shotgun, but what really hurt was the heavy demon on top of her.

“Hey, baby,” his breath was hot and nasty, and instead of humoring him with a response, she spat on his face. Spitting on faces was one of Robin’s favorite pastimes, along with slapping bitches and crying on the inside.

The demon growled and dug his fingers into her flesh, but she fought against him and got in one good punch to the jaw before her limbs locked – he’d frozen her muscles.

He smiled down at her grotesquely, eyes red as rubies, and as he raised his hand to punch through her chest, she just had time to think – _hellfuckingdammit_ – when his body flared red from the inside. She blinked as her rigid body relaxed, and rolled out of the way as the demon toppled forward.

Standing above her with a grim expression was Castiel, brandishing his blade and looking like some avenging warrior of God.

“Killer timing, man,” she grinned and grasped his outstretched hand, getting to her feet.

“It would have been ‘killer timing’ if I’d been a few seconds late,” he replied, and she didn’t even bother sighing as she retrieved her duffel.

“Well, regardless, thanks.”

“Of course.” And with that, he disappeared into the throng. Robin’s eyes lingered after him for a moment before honing in on Eileen, who was grappling with another demon. As she watched, the demon, who was still shuddering from the Latin, managed to clench his fist and suddenly Eileen was choking.

 _Oh, no you don’t_ , Robin thought. In one fluid motion, she brought her shotgun into position and fired at the demon’s head. He jerked back at the impact of the salt round now buried in his skull, and his hold over Eileen broke, long enough for her to free the holy water flask from her pocket and take control of the situation. The hunters locked eyes, and Robin saluted her friend before returning to her task.    

Billy was already taking care of the storage unit closest to her, so she made her way to the next one, mentally bracing herself. Some of the prisoners she’d rescued on earlier missions had been torn and flayed within an inch of their life. She’d seen things that had made her sick to her stomach, things that kept her up at night. Robin may have done this before, but she would never be used to it.

The door had already been partially rolled up, and she grasped her own holy water flask before ducking inside.

And it was just as bad as she remembered.

The interior was the size of a garage, but that’s where the similarities began and ended. The place was reminiscent of Robin’s interrogation cabin but with an emphasis on the _torture_ side. It was dimly lit by a single bulb and filthy, weapons and bloody garments and – oh god, were those sex toys? – scattered around. The floor was sticky with dried and still drying pools of blood and other liquids, the room stank of sweat and urine and bile, and in the center of it all, strung up by her wrists, was a woman.

Chains hung from the ceiling and shackled her, and her toes just barely dragged on the cement floor. Her head lolled against her chest – either she was unconscious, or…

Robin shook her head and got out her container of salt, shaking out a thick line at the entrance of the unit before hurrying over to the woman. The demon that had occupied this unit wasn’t here, thankfully. She hoped he’d been brutally stabbed by Cas and died painfully.

The woman was mostly naked, covered just barely by tattered and stained undergarments, and Robin pulled out one of the shock blankets she’d stored in her bag. At least it wasn’t winter. Hypothermia was an eager reaper.

She got out the bolt cutters then and began working away at the chains, breathing through her mouth to save her nose from the stench of human suffering. At the movement, the woman stirred.

“Hey,” Robin said gently, pausing her work to give the prisoner her full attention.

The woman opened her eyes with difficulty, but as she focused on Robin, her face crumpled in terror and she began whimpering and feebly struggling to get away from her.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Robin smiled and backed away with her hands up. “I’m human, like you. I’m here to get you someplace safe.” The woman still looked petrified, but her struggling slowed. She really was in bad condition. There wasn’t an inch of skin on her that wasn’t bruised or sliced or just plain gone. Her ribs looked broken, her lips were cracked and bleeding, her dark hair was matted, and depending on how long her arms had been caught above her head, she may have lost those too from lack of blood circulation. But most haunting were her eyes. They had that cornered, glassy look of a wild animal that had been hunted and trapped. An animal that knew it was about to die.

Robin swallowed back her rage and forced softness into her voice. “Is it alright if I cut you down?”

The woman hesitantly nodded, and she beamed, going over to finish her task.

“I’m Robin, by the way,” she said as she worked at the chains. “What’s your name?”

“Haley,” the woman said hoarsely.

“Haley? That’s a nice name. I had a friend named Haley.” Who was dead now, but Robin decided to keep that to herself. Finally, the bolt cutters broke through the chains, and Haley collapsed into her waiting arms. The woman let out a low moan at the impact on her broken body, and Robin carefully reached down to grab the shock blanket and wrapped it around Haley’s frail shoulders. The woman was sobbing now, the noise pricking tears in Robin’s own eyes, and the hunter simply held the prisoner for a while, murmuring reassurances in her ear and gingerly rubbing her back. It was only when the door slid open farther that they broke apart.

It was just Tracy.

“Robin, do you have a spare speaker and recorder? Mine are busted,” she bit her lip.

“Yeah, in my duffel. Oh, and can you take Haley here back to the vans?” Robin asked, already carefully handing off the prisoner to Tracy. “I’ve gotta get the other people out.”

Tracy gathered Haley, the speaker, and the recorder in her arms, nodding. “Can do.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” Robin patted her shoulder as she collected her things and slipped out of the unit.

 

The rest of the units were pretty much the same situation. Robin met with a few demons, and they met with her holy water and eventually, the exorcisms. She freed a couple of children – which set her teeth on edge, the thought of their agony – and one elderly man who was on the last legs of possibly torment-induced dementia. She’d also found one dead prisoner hanging limply from the ceiling like meat in a butchery. After a moment of mournful silence, she’d cut him down and lugged his body herself to the vans to be buried properly back at camp. No one should have to rest in this hellhole.

By the time Robin reached the complex again, most of the demons were gone. Only their empty, dead vessels remained. The few, stubborn ones weakly fending off attacks were more than outnumbered by the hunters. She clapped her teammates on their backs as she passed, noting with pride how relatively unscathed they all were. Just a few cuts and scrapes, here and there. Robin located Eileen, who was helping an injured hunter get to his feet. Cas was finishing off another demon. All was well.

There was just one more unit to hit before they could leave, and she made her way over to it, trying to ignore the insidious exhaustion creeping into her limbs. It was the one at the farthest end of the complex, and with a sigh of relief at a mission almost accomplished, she heaved the door up.

And her heart stopped.  

Inside, slumped against the metal wall with his eyes closed, jaw slack, body limp…was Dean.

Robin staggered back a little, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. It was the same hair, now damp and darkened with sweat. The same freckled skin, the same build. Of course, the man before her was thin and battered – but wait. No, it couldn’t be Dean. Obviously.

Robin shook her head. Dean was a demon, and this man…this boy, really, was subtly different. His hair was a few shades darker, and not just from sweat, and his face wasn’t quite as sharp as Dean’s. She gripped the frame of the door and ran a hand over her face, trying to slow her heart rate. Everything was fine. He was just some boy, and she needed to calm the fuck down –

“Robin!”

She whirled around to see Eileen throwing herself in front of her. The world stopped spinning and time slowed down, the moment splintering into disjointed frames. Eileen’s body jerked sharply and she stumbled backwards into Robin, who caught her in bewilderment. Robin tore her gaze away from Eileen for a moment to look across the complex. Her eyes fells on Ennis, who was standing a little ways away with his gun pointed at them. That’s when she noticed the gash on his shoulder – his anti-possession tattoo must have been damaged. She watched in horror as he unlocked the safety, about to fire again, but then Roy appeared and tackled him from the side. Robin finally exhaled and turned her attention back to her friend.

Eileen was gasping shallowly and clutching at the bullet wound in her chest. God, she must’ve been shot right in the heart. Robin tried to adjust her so that they were facing each other, but that’s when Eileen’s legs gave out, and they both ended up on their knees.

“Hey, whoa, you’re okay,” Robin said as calmly as she could, gently lowering her friend onto her back so she could attend to her injury. Eileen was still taking ragged, uneven breaths, but the color was draining quickly from her face. Robin tried to breathe as she pulled the small pen knife from her boot to cut away the fabric sticking to Eileen’s bloody skin. She almost dropped the knife several times as she worked away at the shirt, her hands were shaking so hard. When she finally exposed the wound, her heart dropped. The bullet was lodged too deep for her to even see, and there was so much blood everywhere, bubbling from her mouth, gushing from her chest. It was on Robin’s hands now as she stripped off her own jacket to hold against the wound.

“Eileen” she tried to smile, “we’re gonna have to get you back to the car, okay? I don’t have my medical kit on me, and I can’t do much with just my jacket—Eileen?”

The other girl’s eyes had closed. Robin felt her own body go cold.

“Hey, Ei, open your eyes,” she gently shook her friend, “we need to get you out of here.” Eileen didn’t stir. Her chest was no longer rising and falling. Robin covered her mouth to hold back a scream, a whimper, she didn’t even know. The commotion around her faded to white noise until all she could hear was the pounding in her ears.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Eileen was untouchable…and yet here Robin was, kneeling over her body. She let out a sob just as a hand touched her shoulder, and she drew her gun so fast she almost shot herself. But it was just Cas.

“They’ve gotten all the humans out,” he told her. That’s when he saw Eileen, and his eyes widened. “Is she…?” he trailed off, and Robin flinched. She wanted to scream _No!_ in his face, but this wasn’t his fault. And it was true. Eileen was…she was…

“Here, let me,” Cas said. Robin glanced up at him in confusion. What was he planning to do? Eileen was already gone. But he just crouched down beside her and gently removed her hands from where they were fisted in the other girl’s jacket. People were starting to notice them and hover around, but one glare from Robin sent them away. She turned her attention dejectedly to Cas, who was now holding his hands just above Eileen’s wound. And as she watched, his hands started to glow.

Cas’ face was strained as the glow touched Eileen, and her torn flesh began stitching itself back together around the bullet. Sinew and muscle, veins and skin repaired itself, and the color returned to her face. And then she gasped, her eyes flying open.

Simultaneously, Cas’ eyes fluttered closed, and he wilted onto the ground.

Robin just sat there, shocked. What the fuck? _What the fuck?_ She only unfroze when Eileen struggled to sit up.

“Easy, honey,” she whispered to her newly resurrected friend, helping her up. “Don’t move too much.”

“What happened?” Eileen looked around dazedly.

Robin stared at Castiel’s crumpled form. “The world ended.”  

 

* * *

 

“So what’s this I hear about a party?”

Sam looked up from his book and across the oval office to Dean, who was leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s actually a festival,” the demon king replied, closing the ancient text.

“Right. Because you ‘found God’.” Dean studied the First Blade and tried to pinpoint in his memory when exactly his brother had become so cryptic. Now that he was thinking about it, it’d really started around the time Sam’s eyes had gone black.

And that had been Dean’s ultimate triumph. He still remembered the morning when it had finally happened.

It had taken Sam three days to complete his transformation, which had worried Dean because most demons only needed one. His brother had just laid there on the table, unmoving, unbreathing. Dead, in every sense of the word. One day had passed, and no indication of his eventual awakening. Two days went by, and Dean couldn’t stop pacing and snapping at everyone that even breathed in his direction. But finally, on the third day, his brother arose anew.

And demons everywhere rejoiced, screaming, _Sam Winchester is saved!_

“Well, I didn’t find _him_ , per se,” Sam said, breaking Dean from his reverie. “I found a way to summon him.”

The knight raised a brow. “How’d you manage that?”

“Oh, with the right motivation, angels will tell you anything.”

“So Hannah did know something?” Dean cocked his head. “Never pegged that bitch as useful.”

Sam shrugged. “I got what I needed out of her, and now,” his gaze settled on his brother, “I need you.”

“Dude, we gotta ease up on the codependency. It’s a major cock blocker.”

The king smirked. “Right. I meant I need you by my side.”

“Yeah, that’s not any better.”

Sam groaned and Dean laughed, a vague memory surfacing from the ashes of his past human life. _There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you_.

 _Damn straight_ , Dean thought.

 

 

 

 

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, friends. I've only recently escaped finals hell, and unlike Dean, I had to claw my way out of perdition.


	10. Love the Way You Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble in paradise O.O

_*******************************************************  
_

_“Just gonna stand there and watch me burn  
_

_But that's alright, because I like the way it hurts  
_

_Just gonna stand there and hear me cry  
_

_But that's alright, because I love the way you lie_

_I love the way you lie"_

_*********************************************************_

 

The unfamiliar feeling of softness beneath him was what dragged Cas back to consciousness. His fingers dug into the padding under him, and his eyelids fluttered, struggling to open.

“You lied to me.”

His eyes sprang open at that, and his gaze flickered around the room – he was in another cabin – before landing on Robin sitting by the bed he was lying on. In her hands was his angel blade, and she was idly twisting it, refusing to look at him. He was suddenly aware of the leaden ache radiating from his entire body, but heavier than his muscles was his heart. The secret was out. She knew he was an angel. This was his cue to leave – or get stabbed, possibly. Cas considered trying to roll off the bed and defend himself, but at this point he was just too tired to care.

Robin looked up then, and her expression was flat, unreadable. “Well?” she probed. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“I didn’t lie,” he finally rasped. Lord, did his throat hurt.

She raised a brow and chuckled humorlessly. “Right. You just casually forgot to mention that you’re a freaking _angel_. Castiel.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I should’ve figured, with a name like that. Maybe I just really wanted to believe that you were one of us.”

He flinched. “I am one you,” he whispered.

“No.” Robin’s mask of calm melted. “ _We’re_ survivors of a genocide. _You_ are a supernatural war machine. You were supposed to be our savior!” Her voice suddenly went quiet, and she glared out the window. “You know, my mom used to pray to you guys. Every morning, I’d find her kneeling by her bed with her hands clasped, bible beside her. Her faith could’ve moved mountains, and when the world started falling apart, she promised me that as long as we were good, we would be saved.” Robin met his eyes then with such agony in hers that he almost couldn’t look. “And you know what happened to her?”

He didn’t want to know.

“A demon ripped her head off and fed her body to hellhounds,” she finished, voice trembling. “Where were you then, Cas?”

His throat was tight as he said, “Robin, I’m sorry—”

"No.” She shook her head, and the motion freed the tears that had been welling in her eyes. Somehow her grief was worse than the rage he’d been expecting. “You don’t get to apologize.” Her hands were shaking, and Cas wished he could steady them. “I’ve lost everyone. My family, my husband, my friends, Dea—” she broke off.

“You still have Eileen,” he tried weakly.

“Eileen,” she exhaled, “is the only reason you are still alive – and don’t expect any gratitude from me for her life. Saving her was the least you could do after everything.” 

He nodded miserably. “I suppose you want me to leave.”

“I’ll give you an hour. After that, if I see you again…” She twirled the blade between her fingers. “Well, I better not see you again.”

And with that, she stalked out of the room, and she didn’t look back once.

 

It took Cas half an hour to find the strength to get up. He was no stranger to physical pain, but the crushing weight in his chest left him nearly gasping. He’d never been more ashamed of himself and his brethren. He’d never felt so small.

 _Your life, just like every life, is precious._ He clung to those words despite the irony and used them to force his limbs to move. He was a robot, and every movement required a separate command.

_Sit up. Get your legs off the bed. Stand. Try not to fall. Try not to curl up on the ground and shatter._

Somehow, Cas made it to the door. He realized as he lingered there that this must have been Robin’s cabin. There were half a dozen other beds – well, they were cots, really – but he’d been lying on the one with her duffel bag resting at its foot.

And in the trashcan sitting by the head was his trench coat. Swallowing back bile, he quickly dug his coat out from the trash and left the cabin before the weight in his chest killed him.

 

Dawn was just breaking through the cover of night, painting the sky with shades of gold and red and pink, as Cas crossed the camp. The place was quiet except for the chirping of summer insects and his slow, muffled footsteps on the grass. Every step was an effort, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t get out of the place fast enough. He didn’t have a plan, food, or any way to defend himself now that Robin had taken his blade, but he didn’t care. All that was left for him was Claire, and the sooner he reached her, the sooner he could leave all of this behind.

“Castiel!”

He froze, heart leaping – was that Robin? Had she changed her mind? But no, it was Eileen.  The deaf hunter hobbled up to him straight from the infirmary and caught his good hand in hers. He looked down at her with surprise.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she wheezed, and he winced. His healing had only done so much for her. “You saved my life.”

He sighed. “I wish I could have done more. Fixed your hearing. Repaired the minute tears in your pericardium.”

She watched him with concern. “You’re not too well, are you?” It wasn’t a question. “I didn’t think angels could get sick.” Ah, so she also knew – and yet, there was no hatred in her eyes.

Cas shrugged, distracted by her blasé attitude. “I’m not so much sick as I am fading.”

“Oh. Wow. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He blinked. Was she honestly worried for him? “Unless you can reopen Heaven’s gates, unfortunately, no.” Cas gave her a small smile even though the expression felt tight and uncomfortable on his face. “Eileen, you don’t owe me anything – and shouldn’t you be resting?”

“I’m fine, Cas.” He felt an unexpected thrill go through him at this new human using his nickname, but he quickly tamped down on the sensation. Why couldn’t he just let go of these people? Why did he always have to get so attached? One sliver of kindness, and he was at their mercy. Pathetic. “I just want to help you, like you helped me,” she said.

He traced the splint with his fingers, reluctant. “I don’t think Robin will approve of that.”  

Eileen rolled her eyes. “So? I love her, but she can be so pigheaded sometimes. And she doesn’t control me. If I want to help you, Robin’s just gonna have to suck it up and deal with it.”

There was nothing forced about his smile now, but he added seriously, “It will be dangerous. I’m a magnet for trouble, and I can’t guarantee your safety.”

“There are no guarantees in this world – but I’ll tell you what I do know for certain.” Her eyes were bright with defiance. “You’re one of the good guys, Castiel. So I’m gonna watch out for you.”  

The pressure around his lungs tightened again, but this time it felt good. It felt like the beginning of something different, something better.           

 

* * *

 

The infirmary was overflowing.

Robin was the only stillness in a room full of bustle – well, actually, that was wrong. There was one other unmoving character.

The boy.

She straddled a chair beside the cot he was lying on and observed him, trying to chase off the nagging sensations of betrayal and grief. She wasn’t sure who these feelings were even directed at – Castiel? Dean? Herself?

The boy had nothing to do with it, of course, and yet she couldn’t find it in herself to leave his bedside.

His resemblance to Dean really was disturbing. Every time her eyes flickered to him, Robin felt as if she’d been yanked back into the past, into a different life. One where her name was Cassie, and her mother was alive, and Dean Winchester held her future in his hands like a butterfly just unfolding its wings.

She twirled the ring on her finger and tried unsuccessfully to ignore the roiling in her stomach. This was supposed to be a happy morning. They’d rescued fourteen people. Everyone had made it back, and they’d even _killed_ some demons.

Well, Cas had killed them.

Robin grimaced and rested her hand on the angel blade tucked into her belt.  She didn’t want to think about the angel anymore, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw his tired blue ones. That stupid mess of a trench coat. His glowing hands as he’d brought her best friend back from the dead.

But then she also saw her mother being ripped to shreds.

“Where am I?”

Her head snapped up, and she found the boy blearily staring at her. His eyes were brown, she noted. Not green.

“Hey, there,” Robin smiled. “My friends and I got you out of the storage unit – you’re in a safe place now.”

He shifted under the thin cotton sheet covering him, and then suddenly his hand shot out and she was being splashed with water. Great. She sighed, wiping her face. “If I smelled that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

“Holy water,” he explained, and she noticed for the first time the battered water bottle in his hands. Where did he even get that from?  

“Saying ‘ _Cristo’_ works equally well, just FYI,” she said dryly.

“‘ _Cristo’_?”

“Yeah, it means ‘fuck off’ in demon. Really gets a rise out of them.”

The boy stared at her, and Robin chewed her lip. She really needed to learn appropriate humor – she was probably traumatizing him even further.

“Anyway,” she shook her head, “I’m Robin Blake. I kind of run this whole operation.”

“Yeah, what is this place?” He tried to sit up but then inhaled sharply, eyes widening.

“What’s wrong?” she sat up, on high alert.

The boy was breathing heavily as he stared down at the lower half of his body. “I…I can’t move my legs.” He glanced at her in panic. “Why can’t I move my legs?” 

Robin leaned over and gently peeled back the sheet to expose the rest of him. His legs seemed relatively fine, no irreversible damage done, just a few scrapes and bruises. But then she noticed the bandages wrapped around his torso, peeking out from beneath the clean shirt they’d changed him into.

“Do you mind?” she asked him, holding out her hands. He shrugged reluctantly, and she gingerly helped him sit up. When he was settled, she lifted his shirt and found that the bandages specifically addressed what seemed to be a serious injury to his lower back. Looked like he’d even needed stitches.

“Okay,” Robin said calmly. “It looks like your spine might’ve taken a hit. Do you have any sensation in your legs, or are they just numb?”

The boy tried to move and winced. “Yeah, it hurts, like pinpricks.”

“Okay, good,” she sighed, offering him a smile. “That means your nerves haven’t been destroyed. You might need a bit of physical therapy and a bottle of Jack, but you haven’t lost anything permanently. You’ll be up in no time.”

Before he could respond, one of the medic hunters – Ann Marie – touched Robin’s shoulder. “Your friend’s asking for you, Robin,” she reported.

“Who, Eileen?” Panic flooded her veins. “Is she okay? Did she relapse?”

“No, no,” Ann Marie shook her head, “she’s outside, actually. Says she needs to tell you something.”

“Outside? She was out cold on one of the cots not even half an hour ago.” That girl was gonna be the death of her. She ran a hand through her hair and nodded to the medic. “Thanks. And could you take a look at the kid here – what’s your name again?” Robin turned back to the boy.

“Ben,” he said tiredly. “Ben Braeden.”

 

* * *

Eileen sat on the base of the steps of her cabin as she waited for Robin, Cas beside her. He was fiddling with the belt strap of his dirty trench coat, and she almost wanted to catch his hands and hold them still. Funny, how human he was.

The morning light touched his dark hair and turned his eyes to sapphires, but it also illuminated the bruise-like circles beneath them. His face was gaunt and his skin was pale and he looked as if the world had beaten the crap out of him.  

Castiel may have been an angel, but the Apocalypse hadn’t spared him either. That much, she had gathered.

The sight of curly hair caught Eileen’s eye, and she looked over to see Robin heading toward them. When Robin noticed Cas, her shoulders stiffened, and her hand traveled to her belt. No doubt, she’d kept his angel blade there. Eileen sighed. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

 “What’s he doing here?” Robin said upon reaching them. Cas looked down.

“Cas,” Eileen vocalized, addressing him. It was always a hit-or-miss feeling, speaking. After years of practice, her mouth knew how to shape itself to successfully form syllables, and she could feel her vocal cords vibrating, but verbalizing was a shot in the dark. “Stay out here, okay? I’ll be right back.” She watched his mouth make a circle and then widen at the edges. _O-kay._ He could’ve just nodded. She made a note to start teaching him ASL.

To Robin, she said, “Can I talk to you inside?”

The other hunter didn’t look happy about it, but she nodded, and the two of them climbed the steps – Robin giving Cas a wide berth – and went inside.

It was their shared cabin, and as Eileen closed the door behind her, Robin went and slouched against the wall by her cot. Four other women slept here too, but the place was empty now except for them and the very tangible tension in the air.

Eileen exhaled slowly and opened her mouth to talk, but before she could even begin, Robin spoke. “You shouldn’t have done it.”

The deaf hunter blinked. “Done what?”

“Taken the bullet for me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, and Eileen recognized the gesture, the shaken look on her friend’s face, the way she kept hugging herself. These were signs that Robin was on the verge of a panic attack.

The girl could charge into a complex full of demons, no problem. But hurt her friends, and suddenly she was a mess.

Eileen dropped her defenses and crossed the room to gather her friend in her arms. Robin was the same height as her, and she buried her face in Eileen’s shoulder, trembling. “I was just watching your back,” she murmured.

Robin pulled away. “My back?” she repeated incredulously. “What about your back? You were gone, Eileen! Dead. And there was nothing I could do.”

“If you think I was just gonna let you get shot—”

“That’s exactly what I think,” she snapped, still shaking. “I need you to put yourself first, you understand me? I am not going to lose you too—” she broke off.

Clarity struck Eileen, and she nodded. “This is about Julian, isn’t it?”

Robin flinched as if she’d been slapped. “Don’t.” Her eyes were broken glass. “Don’t do that.”

“Robin, what happened to him wasn’t your fault—”

“I’m not talking about this anymore.”

“Fine,” Eileen sighed. Once Robin decided she was done with a topic, there was no point trying to continue it. “Then let’s talk about Cas.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Cas’ now, huh?”

Eileen raised her hands. “Just hear me out. I think you should give him a chance.”

“I did,” she crossed her arms. “And he lied to us.”

“Did you ever stop and consider why? Just imagine you’re one of the last angels on earth. I mean, everything must be hunting you, right? Demons and humans and whatever else – and Cas is sick too, to top it all off. And then he finds you, someone who can offer him safety, but only if he’s human.” Eileen searched Robin’s closed off expression, imploring her to understand. “What would you do?”

“I would’ve stopped the Apocalypse from happening in the first place,” she threw her hands in the air. “Man, if I had even a tenth of the power he has, I’d have smote every damn demon that even thought about trying to crawl topside. I would have shut this shit down before it even began!” 

“Maybe he tried.”

“No, he didn’t,” Robin shook her head. “He told me so. He was too busy saving his own ass.”

Eileen frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Cas.”

“And you know him so well, right?”

“I know that he saved me, Robin,” she said quietly. “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. And he didn’t have to bring me back – hell, he looks worse now that he did before. But he still did it, despite the fact that it blew his cover, despite how much sicker it made him. And you said it yourself – he’s not evil incarnate.”

“No,” Robin scrubbed her face tiredly. “He was just a bystander with the juice to save us all.”

Eileen dropped her shoulders in defeat. Clearly, Robin wasn’t going to change her mind on this anytime soon, and there wasn’t much more she could say at this point. “Okay,” she shrugged. “Well, Cas is leaving soon to go help his friend, and I’m going with him. Just thought you should know.”

Robin did a double take. “Wait, what? When—why are you— _what_?”

Oh boy. “Yeah. I should be back by tomorrow or the day after, tops.”

“Right,” she grinned as if Eileen had made a joke, but then she realized the other hunter was serious, and her smile melted. “No. No way. You’re not going.”

They stared each other down. “Is that an order?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“I’m going,” she repeated calmly.

“Eileen, please,” Robin caught her shoulders before she could turn away. “As your friend, I’m begging you. Don’t go.”

“Robin,” Eileen sighed, gently tugging the other girl’s hands off her. “You know I’d do anything for you, but right now, there’s a fallen angel that needs me.”

“And what about you?” Her eyes were wide as a terrified child’s. “What do you need, Eileen?”

The deaf hunter gave her a small smile. “I need you to know that I’m not like Julian. Nothing will ever take me from your side.”

Robin blinked, and the hunters stared at each other. Then finally, she said, “Alright. Then I won’t leave your side either. I’m going with you.”

 

 

 

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was at first hesitant to give Eileen her own POV because I didn’t want to trivialize or exaggerate her deafness (as a hearing person). But since she’s becoming an increasingly important character, I figured it was worth the risk. If there are any readers who are deaf, I hope I represented your community appropriately and apologize in advance if I didn’t. 
> 
> Love the Way You Lie © 2010 by Eminem ft. Rihanna


	11. Take Me to Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Maroon 5 singing* Robin and Cas go hard at each other like they're goin' to war

_*****************************************************  
_

_“Take me to church_

_I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies_

_I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife_

_Offer me that deathless death_

_Good God, let me give you my life”_

_*****************************************************_

 

“Garth…can you let go of me now?”

The lanky hunter finally released Robin from their hug and patted her shoulder. “I won’t let you down, boss.”

“Again,” she sighed as she backed out of the war room, “you can just call me Robin.” 

“Will do, _jefa_ ,”

“Yeah, saying it in Spanish doesn’t change anything.” He grinned, and she paused by the door, adding, “We shouldn’t be gone too long, but in the meantime, there’s this kid in the infirmary. Ben.”

“Brown hair? About twenty? Rockin’ a pair of Converse?” 

Robin glanced down at the Converse shoes Garth was wearing himself and smiled wryly. “Yeah, that’s him. So, he’s pretty banged up. And you’re good at, uh…well, you’ve got that whole ‘Care Bear’ vibe to you, and I was wondering—”

“Sure, I can talk to him, no problem.” She nodded her thanks, and he gave her a curious look. “You know him or you’ve just taken a liking to him?”

“I thought I knew him,” she said, her hand drifting down to the angel blade at her hip. “But then, I thought I knew a lot of people.” He raised a brow but Robin just shook her head, tossing him one last smile before slipping out of the cabin.

 

Eileen and Castiel were waiting by the jeep, the afternoon sun wrapping them in haloes of light. Robin ignored Cas as she reached them and instead nodded at the trunk. “Packed enough provisions?”

“More than enough,” Eileen answered. “I think the rations distributor has a thing for me.”

“Ew. He’s like sixty.”

“Yeah, but that saggy chin – it turns me on.” Robin gagged as she added her own weapons duffel and sleeping roll to the already stocked trunk.  

“Well, I gave Garth the lowdown on the situation,” she said. “He was more than happy to be in charge again.”

Eileen chuckled. “The guy’s like a puppy. A giant, six-foot puppy.” 

“Well, it’s kinda nice to see a happy face for once. Lord knows there’s been so little reason to smile these days.” Robin threw a glance at Cas before opening the door to jeep’s backseat so she could grab her jacket, and her eyes fell on the dark splotches. The backseat was still stained with blood – Eileen’s blood.

Robin had sat in the back as they’d driven back to camp from Cainsville, cradling Eileen in her arms. The deaf hunter had been half-conscious, her wound completely healed but residual blood still leaking onto the upholstery. Cas had sat slumped against the car door beside them, out cold, his head rolling around at every jerk of the car. Walt had driven – and God help her, he’d put in a Blake Shelton CD he’d seemingly pulled out of his ass. And as they’d made their way back, as the anxiety and fury and desolation choked her from the inside out, she’d allowed herself for the first time in years to think about Dean. And for the first time in years, she’d started crying. Because this was his fault, and her fault, and nothing would ever be okay again.

“Hey,” Eileen said, coming around to put her hand on Robin’s shoulder. “Sorry about that. I’ll clean it up when we get back.”

“It’s fine,” Robin answered in a strangled voice. _You were dead. You were dead. You were dead._ She cleared her throat and threw herself into the driver’s seat, vowing silently then that she would never again watch those she loved die.

Cas had gotten into the back, careful not to sit on any of the stains, but Eileen was still hovering by the door. “Get in, loser,” Robin called. “We’re going hunting.”

 

It was a three hours’ drive from Kansas City, Missouri to Wichita, Kansas – under normal circumstances, which these were not.  There were other things to factor in now, like demons patrolling the roads, whatever crap Cas’ girl had gotten herself into and getting her out of it – assuming she was still alive.

Robin wasn’t about to waste a tank of gas for some dead chick.

She put in a Robert Johnson CD as she pulled out of the forest and onto the main road, and she cranked the volume uncomfortably high when Cas tried to strike up a conversation with Eileen. Not that it would have bothered Eileen, but it effectively cut the angel off.

From beside her, she felt Eileen shoot her a look before resting her head against the window and closing her eyes. Within minutes, the deaf hunter was asleep.

Robin glanced affectionately at her friend. The whole being-dead-and-brought-back thing must have really tired her out, understandably. But despite her exhaustion, she’d still stepped up to the plate. She’d still put Castiel’s needs in front of hers. Robin smiled ruefully. Eileen was one of those rare, pure people, the kind that really deserved to be called an angel. She’d only known a handful of them.

Her husband had been one of those people.

Robin swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Julian Blake, her husband, her hero, her best friend.

She would never be good enough for him. And she definitely hadn’t been worth his life. No, the day he died had been the day the sun had set for the last time. And just as the sun sank for the moon, Robin’s life had been allowed to continue because of his sacrifice.

And she couldn’t bear it.

 _Think about something else. Anything else._ Her mind automatically jumped to Dean, as it naturally did these days, like some sort of sick default. Between losing him and losing Julian, Robin was left an empty shell. Of course, their losses had cut her in different ways. But then, they were both very different people.

If Julian was her sun, then Dean had been her stars. Her light in the dark. Beauty that kept the night from being terrifying. But now he _was_ the dark, and her life had become endless night.

She turned up the volume on her stereo until she was sure her ears would bleed and forced herself to sing along. In the back, Castiel winced at the loudness and covered his ears, and Robin grinned viciously. It felt good to dole out some of the pain she’d been handed, especially to one of the beings responsible. Some small part of her almost felt bad, but she shook her head. She had no sympathy for the devil.

They spent the next few hours like that, driving along to blasting music that didn’t quite mask the silence of a dying world. 

 

Twilight was just painting the sky with hues of pink when something in the distance caught Robin’s eye, and she turned down the music warily.

“Shit,” she muttered and reached over to shake Eileen awake. The other hunter started and sat up groggily.

“What is it?” Cas asked.

“Demons,” Robin growled, her issues with him forgotten in light of the larger problem.

“How do you know?”

“Who else would be hanging out in the middle of nowhere?” In the mirror, she saw Cas nod. 

The backroads she’d taken so far had been empty, but this was an inevitable confrontation. The demons were just specks in the distance at the moment, smudges loitering about on the side of the one-lane road, but they were steadily growing larger and clearer as she drove closer. “Cas, I kept a duffel bag back there on the floor. Inside are a speaker and recorder. Get those out, will you?” She heard him unzip the bag, but her eyes were trained on the figures. “When I get us close enough, I’m gonna roll down the windows, and then I want you to play the exorcisms at full volume, understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Eileen, you take this,” she handed the angel blade over to her friend.

“What about you?”

In response, Robin dug out a flask of holy water from the car door side compartment and grinned darkly. “I’m gonna make it rain on those bastards.”  

As she brought the jeep closer, the three of them slowly rolled down the windows, but before Cas could activate the exorcism, before they could even get within thirty feet of the demons, the jeep suddenly jerked wildly to the right.

Robin yelped as she tried to regain control of the car, but it was tailspinning, accelerating as it careened erratically before finally flipping over in an explosion of shattering glass and shrieking metal.

 

* * *

 

Sam had disappeared, and it was only after several hours of fruitless searching and interrogating lesser demons that Dean finally found answers.

“He’s out of the country,” Bela said coolly as she salvaged candles from a dilapidated Bath and Body Works in downtown Washington. The demons were all busy preparing for the festival, gathering things for the summoning ritual, stocking up on food and fireworks, lights and music, the works. Even the human slaves were being groomed and given new clothes. Hey, even the entertainment deserved something special on this most glorious of times. Of course, they would all be slaughtered by tomorrow night – but, semantics.

“What do you mean, ‘out of the country’?” Dean snapped, leaning over to force himself into her line of vision.

“As in, not in the States. And that’s as much as I’ll tell you because his orders were to not reveal his location to anyone.”

He let out an irritated breath, and she finally gave him her attention. “Relax, sweetie. He’s just clearing his head before the big event. It’s not every day that one finds God.”

Dean tilted his head back and looked at her from under hooded eyes, plucking the candle out of her hands. “Pretty sure you found God a couple nights ago in that hotel room. You certainly called out his name enough.”

She smirked and snatched the candle back. “Funny, I thought that was you.”

“I think your memory’s a little fuzzy. Here, let me refresh it for you.” In one fluid movement, he caught her by the shoulders and twirled her away from the display shelf, pinning her roughly against the blackened wall. Bela’s breath came out in a small huff at the impact, and she stared up at him with glassy, lust-filled eyes. “You were saying?” he almost growled.

“I did all the work,” she replied, a little breathlessly.

Dean raised a brow and without breaking eye contact, deftly unbuttoned her pants with one hand and slipped it inside. She gasped a little and her eyes fluttered shut. With his free hand, he knotted his fingers in her glossy hair and tugged her head back, exposing her neck. He trailed his mouth over the vulnerable skin, enjoying the rapid thrumming of her heart under his lips at her pulse point, and stopped at her ear.

“Where is my brother, Bela?” he whispered. 

 

* * *

 

Agony. White-hot and sharp, cradling her with hands made of molten knives. Robin’s eyes were full of bursting light as she tried to focus, but her head was throbbing sharply, and something wet was trickling down her face, and almost every part of her was being crushed by metal.

She blinked away the light, wheezing, and tried to take stock of the situation despite the searing pain stealing her attention.

They were upside down. That much, she could tell. To her left were the remains of the windshield, what little amount of jagged glass left splattered with blood. Beneath her, trapping her against the crushed driver’s seat, was the collapsed roof of her jeep, and above was nearly two thousand pounds of car.

Robin let out a small gasp as the claustrophobia — and undertones of taphophobia — set in and closed her eyes, brutally forcing back a wave of panic. There would be plenty of time later to break down. Right now she had to get out and fight off the demons who were probably on their merry way to skin her alive.

“Eileen,” she rasped, but both the other hunter and the angel were hidden from her by a warped wall of metal. She struggled to shift herself. “Eil—”  

The word died in her mouth as her body was suddenly torn from the car through the broken windshield, and Robin was flung onto the road. She spat out a mouthful of gravel, the unforgiving heat of the summer only adding insult to injury.

“Fuck,” she groaned as her abused body cried out in protest. God, she didn’t even want to see what kind of damage had been done – but before she could even consider looking, hands grabbed her roughly and hoisted her to her feet.

“Well, aren’t you one hot piece of roadkill?” a demon in a bald man’s meatsuit sneered into her face. Behind him, four other demons were swaggering over.

“You know what I think?” Robin managed hoarsely, her eyes locking on a glinting object nearly hidden in the grass beside the road.

“What’s that?”

In one swift movement, she kicked him in the nuts and half-dove, half-fell onto the ground, rolling to her knees with the flask in her grip. “I think you can fuck off, is what I think,” she snapped as she splashed some holy water at the demons in a wide arc. They jerked back, skin sizzling, but Robin knew this wouldn’t be enough. If only she had the angel blade – but it was out of sight, somewhere inside the jeep.

“Exorcizamus te—” she began, but then her windpipe abruptly closed off and she choked.

“You stupid, stupid humans,” the bald demon sighed, coming to squat in front of her. She gasped desperately for air but her trachea was completely blocked off. ‘See, this is why we won,” he continued. “You overestimate yourselves. You think you’re gods. But let me tell you a secret,” he leaned in close. “God is dead, and no one’s gonna save you.”

“Maybe God won’t,” a voice said to their left. Robin looked over and through the dark spots in her vision saw Castiel standing by the jeep, Eileen next to him, clutching her shoulder. On one of the doors, painted in blood, was a sigil she’d never seen before. “But I will,” he said and slapped his bloody hand onto the symbol.   

In the time it took for her heart to contract and relax again, the sigil worked its magic and the demons suddenly went into spasms. Her airway cleared simultaneously, and she coughed violently, sucking in oxygen.

Cas and Eileen limped over to her, and together the three of them watched the demons writhe and shriek before finally being ejected from their vessels in a rush of black smoke and sulfur stink. Then all that remained was the silence and stillness, the deep and icy kind Robin felt in her bones.

Slowly, with agonized movements, she made her way over to the bodies of the vessels and checked for signs of life, coming up empty, unsurprisingly. Demons rode their hosts hard and rough. With a sigh, she then went over to examine her jeep.

It was in worse condition than the dead humans.

“That was a neat trick, Cas,” Robin said as she rested her head against the car’s twisted frame. “Couldn’t have pulled it out of your ass a little sooner?” She heard him sigh and announced, “Jeep’s too busted to drive. Unless you can resurrect it too, we’ll have to go on foot.”

“What about those demons?” Eileen asked. The right side of her face was swelling purple and blue, and her shoulder was curved inwards defensively, as if any contact would shatter it. “They’ll get out of Hell soon enough and then they’ll be on our tails.”

“We’ve got a couple hours at least, enough to find a place to crash for the night.”

“And the car?” Cas frowned. “We can’t just leave it here. If other demons see it abandoned, they’ll know the humans driving it survived.”

“No shit,” Robin rolled her eyes. “But we don’t have the time or a place to push it out of sight.” The fields of grass flanking the road were sparse and exposed, less than ideal for hiding a wrecked vehicle. She twisted her ring, thinking, and her gaze fell on the human vessels. “Say the car isn’t empty though.”

Eileen and Cas followed her line of vision. “It would look like an accident and throw them off our scent,” Eileen finished, nodding. “Nice.”

“How to get away with surviving,” Robin smirked. “Just call me Professor Keating.”

 

* * *

 

Sam stood in a circle of light, looking for all the world like some ethereal effigy sculpted by an old master. The dome hundreds of feet above them washed the place, the spotless floors and marble statues, the mosaics and intricate gilding in a soft glow.

“Really, Sammy?” Dean’s voice echoed through the sanctuary, as did his footsteps as he made his way over to his brother. “You hauled ass all the way to freakin’ Rome?”

Sam’s back was to Dean, and he seemed to be studying the enormous altar that sat below the dome, the bronze canopy over it almost shimmering. 

“Vatican City,” Sam clarified without turning. “And no one forced you to come after me.” Dean fell into place beside his brother with a scoff, and he sighed. “But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Who sold me out – Crowley or Bela?”

“Bela,” Dean grinned at the memory. “Nice choice of confidants, by the way. I’ve never met a shadier pair of asshats but here you are, trusting them with more sexy secrets than your gynecologist.”

“Yeah, I think it’s their accents. And for the record, I don’t trust anyone.”

He quirked a brow. “Except for me.”

“Well, you’re not just anyone, are you?”

Dean didn’t respond, just stared up at the Latin inscription on the base of the dome. Sam followed his gaze and translated. “‘You are Peter and on this rock I will build my church, and I will give you the keys to Heaven.’”

“Peter,” Dean frowned. “As in Saint Peter?”

“This _is_ his basilica.”

He shifted his weight self-consciously. “Yeah, I know. I just…I mean, you come here often, or…?

Sam snorted. “No, this is my first time. But I did order for the preservation of all great religious monuments and places of worship.”

“Dude, why?”

The demon king stepped up onto the altar and for the briefest moment, time hung frozen. “Because,” Sam said quietly, reverently. “I want God to watch me turn it all to dust. I want him to know that I’m coming for him.”

And then he threw his arms in the air, and St. Peter’s Basilica came crumbling to the ground.

 

* * *

 

It took them a quarter hour to drag the bodies into the jeep, arrange them believably, and remove their sleeping rolls and whatever weapons and provisions they could from the nearly deformed trunk. The sun was embracing the horizon by the time they set off down the road.

They walked along the roadside, Eileen between Robin and Cas, all lost in their own thoughts. As much as she tried to ignore it, Robin was become acutely aware of all her injuries. Her scalp was tight and sticky with drying and dried blood, her entire left side felt like it had been scraped by a cheese grater, and sharp pain kept shooting through her right ankle. Without meaning to, she began imagining the hot water of a shower massaging her aching body, fresh fruit and chocolate and coffee, a bed with an actual mattress…things she would probably never experience again.

 _Life sucks_ , she signed to Eileen, losing the battle against the defeatist thoughts.

The other hunter grinned. _Yeah, but at least we’re hot._

 _This is true._ Robin reached down and twined her hand with her friend’s. Life sucked, but at least she wasn’t alone.

 

Two hours of walking finally led them to civilization more advanced than an empty road and barren fields. They’d crossed over into Kansas a few miles back, and now they were at the edge of a town long abandoned.

“Well, we’re not in Wichita yet,” Robin said, “but we’ll stop for the night. I really need to use the little hunter’s room anyway.”

“Wow, please tell us more,” Eileen snorted as they trudged further into town. The place looked like all the others – run down, empty, ruined. They picked their way through the littered streets, past stores with broken windows and demolished buildings until houses started cropping up. They chose the one with the least damaged infrastructure and after a quick precautionary scope of the place, headed inside.

Eerily, it reminded Robin of her old house, her childhood home – but with more desolation. The foyer was relatively unscathed, but the kitchen reeked of sulfur and rotting food. They passed the living room and climbed the stairs to the second floor, settling down in the master bedroom. The only apparent damage to it was a few gaping holes in the roof and some large bloodstains in the corner, but that was as ghastly as it got.

While Eileen and Cas set out the bedrolls – they all felt too weird sleeping on the dusty bed – Robin padded into the bathroom and relieved herself. After freshening up as best as she could, she returned to the bedroom only to be met with a sight that set her teeth on edge.

Eileen sat beside Cas on his bedroll, and he’d stripped down to his now-unbuttoned shirt, exposing a long and deep gash running down his chest. She was cleaning the wound with gentle hands, and he was looking at her with the softest expression. Robin gritted her teeth.

“What are you doing?” she managed.

They both glanced up at her and while Cas looked guilty, Eileen just looked confused. “Patching him up,” she replied. “You do see his injury, right?”

“He’s an angel. He can heal himself. I mean, that’s what you do, right?” Robin turned on Cas. “You take care of yourself. Gotta watch out for number one.”

“Robin,” Eileen said tiredly. “Ease up.”

“ _Ease up_?” she hissed. “I’m standing here literally tasting my own blood because this asshole wants to find some girl who’s probably already hellhound kibble. He didn’t life a damn finger to save us when the demons took over, but he has no problem letting you take care of him? Fuck that! Fuck _you_ , Castiel.”

Eileen’s mouth had fallen open, but Cas’ face was blank. As Robin watched, still breathing hard, he silently got up, slipped past her and out of the room.

“Feel better?” the deaf hunter sighed.

Robin shrugged. As abruptly as the fury had come, it left her. And she didn’t think anything would ever make her feel better. “If I say no, will you make me dinner?”

 

They were eating a meal of jerky strips and dried fruit when Cas suddenly returned.

“Enough.”

Both Robin and Eileen looked up at that.

“Excuse me?” Robin scoffed.

“I said enough,” Cas repeated in a dangerously quiet voice. He stood in the doorway, its frame around him looking like wings, and he was squeezing the splint on his hand so hard, she thought it might break. “I’ve tolerated your grievances against me and my kind, and never questioned your anger because I know it’s justified. Robin, I know. You’ve been hurt in ways I can never repair,” his face hardened, “but you are not the only one.”

She scowled. “Listen—”

“No, you listen,” he cut her off. “Yes, I’ve fallen short in more ways than one, but if you think that I didn’t try my absolute hardest to stop all this from happening, then you don’t know me at all.” Cas’ eyes gleamed with pent-up rage as he crossed the room, coming to tower over Robin, who slowly stood. Eileen got to her feet too, sensing the charged air. “And I am done apologizing for saving my own life,” he growled. “I may not have been born into humanity like you, but that doesn’t render my existence meaningless or negligible. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain. I have suffered and bled and wept, and all of it, for you.”

“Cas,” Eileen whispered but he kept going, almost shaking with emotion. “I have given everything – _everything –_ for mankind! I’ve lost friends and family too. I have been broken and reassembled more times than I can count, and yet I still keep going. Why?” He was nearly shouting now. “For you and your godforsaken species! And this is what I get? This blind and unforgiving hatred? And what’s more – I am still trying to save you all, despite everything, because…” the fury suddenly drained out of him, and his shoulders slumped, “because I don’t know what else to do.”

“Castiel,” Robin said, but he waved her off.

“Just…enough, alright?” he muttered. He cast one last indignant look at the hunters before striding out of the room. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for my hiatus, friends. Real life happens sometimes. 
> 
> Take Me to Church © 2014 by Hozier


End file.
